The Knight of the Dragon
by Smaointe Salach
Summary: "Jorah?" Daenerys called after him, and Ser Jorah stopped abruptly, surprised by her use of only his first name. "Yes, Khaleesi?" He did not turn back to her. "Where will you be tonight?" she asked. There was a slight hesitation as Jorah considered his answer. - This story is how I WISH things had happened for J/D, starting in Qarth. Iain Glen Jorah.
1. Chapter 1

This is how I WISH things had happened for Jorah and Dany. Yes, I have read the books, so I know what "really" happens. The Jorah in this story is much more based on Iain Glen's Jorah than on the Jorah of the books, though.

Daenerys stared dreamily at the water tumbling over the marble layers of the fountain in the garden of the palace. Xaro Xhoan Daxos had been exceedingly generous in offering her a place to rest during her stay in Qarth, to be certain, but the way he looked at Dany made her distinctly uncomfortable.

Daenerys did not need a king in order to be queen. In her mind, she did not need a Khal in order to be Khaleesi. Besides, she was forever bound to Drogo, the moon of her life, even if he was gone.

Why was it that when she considered the prospect of remarriage, only one face appeared in her mind as a possible husband?

Daenerys sighed and stretched out her arm, letting her fingers touch the cool, falling water.

"Refreshing, isn't it, Khaleesi? After all that time in the Red Waste?"

_Just the man…_ Daenerys thought.

"Ser Jorah." Dany turned and shook the drops of water off her fingers. She looked the knight over from head to toe. He looked much better than he'd looked in the Waste, much cleaner and as though he'd had a good meal. His yellow shirt shined in the golden glow of the setting sun, as did his ashen hair.

She knew she looked better, too; her silver hair was plaited neatly into a complicated system of braids, freshly washed and tightly woven. Her face was clean and she wore a speckless dressing robe. Daenerys noticed that Ser Jorah was trying hard not to examine her as closely as she was eyeing him.

Finally, awkwardly, he cleared his throat, crossing and folding his hands in front of him.

"Khaleesi," he said gently, stepping closer to her and lowering his voice, "I want to put at least four guards directly outside your bedchamber on shifts throughout the night. I want a constant watch on you."

"I have no fear of this place," Daenerys insisted with a smile, shaking her head. "I will have my handmaidens in the room with me. I shall sleep soundly. However, if it will make _you_ more at ease, Ser, put the men where you will."

Ser Jorah nodded. "I will make the arrangements," he said. "The Qartheen are holding a party in your honor tomorrow evening." He bowed slightly and turned to leave Daenerys in the garden.

"Jorah?" Daenerys called after him, and Ser Jorah stopped abruptly, surprised by her use of only his first name.

"Yes, Khaleesi?" He did not turn back to her.

"Where will you be tonight?"

There was a slight hesitation as Jorah considered his answer.

"I only ask," Daenerys said quickly, "because it would make me feel safer if you were nearby, in case something happened and you were needed."

Jorah turned around to her and bit his lip. "My own room will be right beside yours," he said slowly and carefully, "if that pleases you, Khaleesi."

"It does," Daenerys confirmed, and for a reason she did not quite understand, she felt her cheeks grow warm. She hurriedly turned away, back to the fountain. "Thank you, Jor – _Ser_."

Hours later, Irri and Doreah were tending to Daenerys, talking to her in mixed Dothraki and Common Tongue.

"Khaleesi is thinking of something," Irri said as she brushed Daenerys' long, silver hair out from her braids. "What is the distraction?"

"A man," Daenerys answered. "Isn't that always the distraction?"

"I know of a man in love with the Khaleesi," Doreah giggled, then, seeing Daenerys' scowl, she stopped and put her lips in a line.

"I have a husband still," Daenerys insisted. "It is Khal Drogo and his memory who distracts me; that is all."

"Of course, Khaleesi," Irri agreed, and Doreah nodded apologetically.

"May he ride with his ancestors," she said solemnly.

After several moments of pregnant silence, though, Daenerys asked, "Is it Xaro of whom you speak, Doreah? The man who is in love with me?"

"No, Khaleesi. It does not matter," the maid insisted, washing Daenerys' feet quietly and not looking up.

"Who, then?" Daenerys asked, though she knew the answer. She simply wanted to hear his name spoken aloud.

Doreah continued to stare at the ground. "It is Ser Jorah, Khaleesi."

Behind Daenerys, Irri sighed. Daenerys was not sure how to interpret the sigh, as she could not see Irri's face. Daenerys put her lips in a line and told herself that she would not smile in response to Doreah's words.

"A horrid rumor to spread," she said abruptly to Doreah. "Surely you have no proof of this."

"Before the Khaleesi's brother… died… I was bringing water past the tent holding him and Ser Jorah. They were talking. I tried not to listen, but I heard. Khaleesi's brother had had much fermented milk. He was saying nasty, horrible things about the Khaleesi. Ser Jorah made him stop. Viserys asked him why he cared so much, and Ser Jorah confessed that it was because he loved the Khaleesi."

Daenerys was silent for a moment, confused. "And what did Viserys say to that?"

"He laughed at Ser Jorah. He said, 'Good luck to you, competing with that savage beast Drogo for her. You'll get yourself killed over her.' To that, Ser Jorah said, 'I would never cause her pain in pursuit of her. Rather, I would die in her service.'"

Daenerys raised her eyebrows, feeling a prickle in her eye as she swallowed hard and tried to keep tears from forming. She didn't know exactly why her body wanted to cry. Perhaps it was at Viserys' cruelty. More likely, though, it was Jorah's devotion.

"I will go to him," she said suddenly, more to herself than to her handmaids.

"To Ser Jorah?" Irri asked, disbelief in her voice.

"Please, Khaleesi… I do not mean to create a problem…" Doreah begged, clasping her hands and worriedly chewing her lip.

"Doreah," Daenerys said serenely, looking down at the maid, "What you have told me has only made me feel more intensely what I already felt, which is sincere appreciation for Ser Jorah's loyalty and support. I must tell him of this… appreciation. Tonight. It can not wait."

"Khaleesi, I do not wish to get in trouble for gossip," Doreah said, her voice wracked with concern.

"You are in no trouble," Daenerys assured her. "Just make me look beautiful for him."

Next door, Jorah lay awake in his bed, still clad in his day clothes, his sword in its sheath on the bed beside him, ready for action. He knew he would need to sleep at some point. He knew that his charge was under intense protection, and that he would be awakened if he were needed. Nonetheless, he felt it was better that he was alert, so that she could sleep in peace.

When there was a gentle knock on the door of his chamber, Jorah sprang to life. He grabbed his sword, unsheathing it and holding it at the ready. He quickly approached the door and opened it a crack, not at all expecting to see the figure standing before him in the shadowy moonlight.

It was Daenerys, her silver hair glowing in the night, long and flowing, the breeze gently carrying it around her head. She smiled serenely at him and said quietly,

"Please put the sword down, Ser Jorah. May I have a word with you?"

Jorah's heart continued to pound as he nodded silently and held the door open for the Khaleesi. Before, it had been pounding out of fear that something awful was happening. Now, it was the familiar attraction to her, augmented by the fact that she was now standing, barely clothed, in his bedchamber.

Dany looked around the room, dark except for a few candles, and noticed that she and Jorah were completely alone.

"Where is your manservant?" she asked Jorah curiously.

"He has a watch guarding you," he answered simply, biting his lip.

Dany nodded. She inhaled quickly as though she were going to speak, held in her breath and darted her eyes around the room, and then sighed anxiously.

"What's wrong, Khaleesi?" Jorah asked, wanting to step closer to her but not daring to do so.

"I need to ask you…" she began, and suddenly Jorah knew precisely why she was here.

"Should we talk outside?" he asked quickly. "I'm only afraid – people might think the wrong thing if we are here alone in the middle of the night."

"Let them think what they will. We are alone all the time. This is a private conversation," Dany said firmly. The dragon in her had reared its head, Jorah thought. She continued, now bolstered with some confidence she'd found deep inside, "I need to ask you if you are in love with me, Jorah."

He looked away from her, first to the window into the courtyard, then at the ground. There she was again, using his first name without the formality of his title. He was glad she could not see the flush of his cheeks in the darkness. He cleared his throat.

"I am," he said finally. "I do confess it, Khaleesi. I do not let it affect my judgment when protecting you. I will never proposition you, nor behave jealously of your relationship with any other man."

Daenerys took a few steps closer to him, and his breath quickened along with his heart. Still, he looked away.

"You will never proposition me? Why not? Look at me, Jorah." She reached up to put a soft, small hand on his rough cheek, pulling his face back toward her. Her eyes gleamed brightly in the pale light coming through the window. She had often done this to him, put her hand on his cheek, but tonight it felt different. It felt like it she was pulling him into her. "Tell me," she said hoarsely. "Tell me that you love me."

"Do not do this to me, Khaleesi. I beg it of you. You do not realize the pain -"

Suddenly, Dany looked like she was going to cry. "If it is true, why won't you tell me?"

Jorah's face softened. "Of course it is true. I love you, Khaleesi."

"Use my name, please."

Jorah bit his lip. "I love you, Daenerys."

"Gods be with me," Daenerys whispered, wrapping her arms around Jorah's shoulders and drawing herself up to him. He inclined his neck and lowered his head to meet hers.

Their lips met slowly, carefully, both of them trembling. Jorah released a quiet sound so desperate when his lips touched Dany's that she stroked his snarled hair with her fingernails to comfort him.

Dany's breath grew thick and heavy. When Jorah dared to let his tongue wander between his lips and into her mouth, all reservation was gone. Jorah's sword clattered to the ground as he dropped it and foundered on his feet. Feeling truly weak at the knees, he took Daenerys by the shoulders and guided her over to the chair at the writing desk in front of the window to the courtyard.

"Sit," she commanded him, and he did. She pulled closed the shutters on the window and looked back at Jorah. The height difference between them was great enough, and she was petite enough, that with him sitting in the chair and her standing, their faces were almost even. She barely had to bend down to kiss him again.

He spread his knees apart to allow her to stand closer to him, and she entangled her fingers in his knotty blonde hair. Not seeming to know what to do with his hands, Jorah put them on Dany's waist. She kissed him fiercely, crushing her lips against his, and once more he moaned with want.

She threw her hair over one shoulder, exposing her swan-like neck, as if inviting him to kiss her there. Jorah took the hint. He moved his lips to her neck, gently but urgently licking, nipping, and sucking at the tender skin between her ear and shoulder. Now it was Dany's voice that filled the bedchamber, hollow with pleasure. She said his name, softly, just a fervent whisper. That made him shiver and smile against her skin.

He pulled her down toward him, urging her onto him, and she complied. She put a leg on either side of his hips and hiked up the skirt of her diaphanous dress. She placed his rough hands on her thighs and urged him to stroke her soft skin. Beneath her, she felt his hardness twitch through the thick fabric of his kilt.

Jorah gasped slightly when he realized she wore absolutely no undergarments.

"Khaleesi," he sighed dreamily as she bit his bottom lip. "Daenerys."

All he got in reply was, "ungh…" as her breath grew even heavier. She was practically panting now. Jorah reached one hand up to her cheek, hot to the touch. She leaned against his palm and shut her eyes, and she began rocking her hips against his hardness.

"Oh… gods…" Jorah said aloud, not bothering to whisper.

"Hmm," Daenerys sighed, smiling gently. She swiveled her hips in circular motions and ground herself harder against Jorah's lap. She took his hand from her cheek and placed it on her breast, squeezing it gently.

She continued like that for a few moments, with Jorah touching her in wonderment, until she was so wet she was sure she would stain his kilt. She reached down for the leather ties at his waist and began undoing the knot.

Jorah hastily put his hand on hers and gulped.

"Your Grace, I must not put a child in you. I must not give you a bastard. It is not fitting for a queen."

"And what is fitting for a queen, Ser Jorah? To be all alone?" She kissed him again and continued untying his kilt.

"Khaleesi -"

"My name is Daenerys."

Jorah sighed. "Dany," he said softly, stroking her cheek, "Let me touch you. Let me please you. I promise I will please you."

To prove his point, he trailed his fingertips down from her face along the length of her delicate neck, down over her chest and stomach, and under the pleats of her gossamer dress. He reached within to the folds of her womanhood, feeling her warm wetness and shutting his eyes against his desire.

She melted into him then, into his hand and into his lap. Jorah pressed the base of his palm against her vulva and put circular pressure around the area while he caressed her velveteen creases with his firm fingers. Daenerys began to undulate her body rhythmically along with Jorah's motions, gradually moving faster and faster with him. Soon she was panting frantically. So was Jorah, his hardness straining desperately against the fabric of his kilt, pressing against Dany's thigh insistently.

"I want to ride you, Jorah," she moaned wantonly, having lost all reservation and semblance of modesty.

"Dany," he whispered soothingly into her ear, using his left hand to press her cheek against his, "I promised I would please you."

He was as good as his word. Within moments she was writhing, her muscles contracting around his fingers, little gasps escaping her plump lips. She uttered Jorah's name over and over, making him throb beneath her.

As she recovered, Jorah pulled his fingers out from her and wiped them on his thick kilt. He resisted the urge to bring his fingers to his lips and taste them. That seemed a step too far with the Khaleesi, though all propriety was long gone.

If he thought she would be satisfied after him pleasing her with his fingers, he was mistaken. She reached again for the ties at his waist, determined to bring out his manhood. Feeling as though he could not _command_ his queen to stop, Jorah decided to try once more to keep the situation from spiraling out of control. He was trying, truly, everything he could. He did not want to impregnate his Khaleesi. Well, perhaps he did, under different circumstances, but not tonight. He did not want to give her a bastard.

So, he very mildly placed his hand on top of hers as she fumbled with the leather ties on his kilt, caught her gaze in his, and said quietly,

"My Queen, you have no idea how badly I want you -"

"Then, by all means, Ser Jorah, take me."

"And I promise, Khaleesi, I would be a gentle but fiery lover to you -"

"If you are trying to talk either one of us out of this, it is not working." She looked at him seriously in the candlelight.

Jorah sighed and looked at Daenerys seriously. No, it was not working. He did want her more badly than he could say.

"Your Grace," he said finally, "I am yours this night and every night that you want me."

"Take me to the bed, Jorah," Daenerys commanded him, and he stood, her legs locked around his waist and her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He walked up to the side of the bed and gently set Dany down horizontally across the luxurious blankets covering the thick mattress.

Immediately, Dany set to work disrobing herself, going straight for the rope ties at her neck and shimmying out of her filmy dress. Jorah gaped at her nude form, staring for a long moment at her exposed breasts. Her nipples were alert and statant, and her pale flesh glowed in the dim light. Jorah's erection, already straining hard against his kilt, ached even more fervently for attention.

He whipped off his dark yellow linen tunic, revealing a chest sculpted by years of riding and fighting, dusted with hair. Daenerys made a low sound of want upon seeing his flesh so hastily uncovered. She eyed him below, where his fingers scrambled to untie the leathers binding his manhood within its fabric confines. At last, he was free, and his member sprang forth from its prison, long and thick and throbbing.

The first thought that ran through Jorah's mind, for which he instantly internally lashed himself, was, "_I am finally about to fuck her._" Then, horrified at himself, he corrected the thought. "_I am finally about to make love to her_." The truth was that he was so turned on and tormented that he wanted nothing more than to grab Dany around the waist, hoist her over onto her hands and knees, and pound her mercilessly from behind until he exploded inside of her. It wouldn't take long. Besides, hadn't she already had her turn?

Instead, he had promised to be gentle, so he had to be patient. Looking down at Daenerys, though, she did not appear to want patience. She had elevated herself to a seated position on the bed and had crept over to Jorah. She yanked his kilt away, and Jorah kicked it aside.

Then, it was as if Daenerys had read Jorah's mind. She turned around, away from him, and planted herself squarely on her hands and knees, shamelessly presenting herself to him. She tossed her silver hair over one shoulder, the tiny expanse of her back pale and smooth in the light.

"Ungh," was all Jorah could manage. He slowly guided himself into her, which was easy because of how incredibly wet his Khaleesi was for him. What was not easy was controlling himself against the urge to finish inside of her immediately. The tight squeeze of her womanhood, combined with the fact that it had been years since Jorah had had a woman, meant that he felt distinctly out of control of himself.

"Daenerys," he moaned rather loudly, more vocally than he had intended. He hoped the blood riders next door would not hear him, though, honestly, what did they think was going on in the middle of the night between the Khaleesi and her guardian in his bedchamber?

Daenerys sank down onto her elbows and shuddered as Jorah entered her. When he had pushed in to the hilt, he paused for a moment to compose himself, shutting his eyes and sighing deeply. Beneath him, Dany squirmed and squealed, urging him on. Jorah pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in. No, this wasn't going to take very long. He might as well give Dany everything he was worth with what time he had.

Jorah began pistoning hard and fast, drilling himself into the Khaleesi as he clutched her hip firmly with his right hand. He propped her back up onto her hands so that he could meld his body with hers. His left hand wandered beneath her torso as he leaned forward on top of her, and he reached under her for her breast. He cradled it in his hand and felt as it rocked back and forth with each quick, mighty thrust into Dany's body.

He buried his nose in her platinum hair, which smelled like lavender and rose, and planted occasional light kisses on her neck. All the while, he continued thrusting into her, his tempo grueling. After a few minutes, his hand left her breast and strayed down the length of her chest and belly to the silver thatch below. He played with her there, ardently stroking her around the area where his shaft was plunging in and out.

She quickly came again, moaning his name loudly into the night air and trembling uncontrollably beneath him. Jorah took his hand from her and put it on her waist for support as he pounded her, taking his clean hand and stroking the long hair on her head gently.

"My beautiful Queen," he said reverently, letting his fingertips brush her cheek, "Lovely, exquisite Daenerys." Then, hastily, he pulled all the way out of her, ceasing his rhythmic thrusting abruptly.

"What's wrong?" Dany asked, sounding worried.

Jorah gripped his member in his hand and shut his eyes briefly. "I don't want to... I was going to..."

"Well, I think that's normal," Daenerys giggled softly, turning around to face him on her knees.

"I'll just get dressed, Khaleesi," Jorah said stiffly, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "I'm sorry."

He realized what he had just done – he had just mounted the Mother of Dragons as if it were nothing – and he could not grant himself the pleasure of release. He turned away from her, ashamed, and acutely aware of his nudity. He managed a full step away from the bed before he heard her voice behind him.

"Jorah, no!" Daenerys cried. "Come here. Please."

Jorah looked back at her skeptically. She sat back on her haunches, unabashedly revealing herself to him, and patted the bed beside her for him to join her. Sighing, he did as she bade him and sat perched on the side of the bed, half-covering his crotch with his hand. He realized that that hand was covered in Dany's female essence, and he felt his cheeks flush again.

"You have brought me to the point of ecstasy twice tonight," Daenerys said quietly, reaching up to stroke his hairline with her fingertips. Jorah shivered at her touch. "The least you can do is let me help you finish once."

"It's too late; it's gone now," Jorah said, looking at Dany with an embarrassed half-smile. She grinned back at him knowingly.

"Your honor knows no bounds, Ser." She yawned widely, covering her mouth delicately with her hand. "Oh, Jorah, you have thoroughly worn me out. I will leave you be. I need sleep."

The thought of her leaving him and going back to her room made Jorah's stomach churn painfully.

"I wish you would stay here," he said, too firmly, he thought instantly. He had not sounded whiny. He had sounded like he had already made up Dany's mind for her, but she was his Queen.

She smiled weakly, though, and put her hand on the back of his neck.

"Will you watch me sleep, Jorah? Will you protect me all night?"

He couldn't tell if she was mocking him, calling him out for his over-protectiveness. He decided to answer truthfully.

"I will not sleep. I will keep you safe."

Dany looked away, down at the ground, and smiled sheepishly to herself. She breathed deeply and her eyes flared as though she were stimulated again. Jorah eyed her curiously. Did his solicitousness, his attentiveness, arouse her? Well, he could provide that until the day he died.

"I will stay here. But I never sleep alone anymore. It's either Irri or Doreah who is beside me at night. I can't fall asleep unless there is someone next to me."

"I fear I will fall asleep as well if I curl up in the bed," Jorah laughed mildly, masking his excitement at the notion of cuddling with his beloved Khaleesi.

"Just hold me until I fall asleep. Please," she added, not wanting to sound bossy or controlling.

He did just that, spooning with her beneath the heavy velvet and silk blankets of the bed. He had put all his clothes back on modestly, but Daenerys remained nude. Jorah, unsure of how to handle her nudity in this most intimate situation, kept the length of his body away from her and instead wrapped his arm around her belly and laced his fingers with hers. Outside the heat of passion, he felt abruptly awkward with his half-erect penis and his flushed skin. Daenerys seemed completely calm, serene, even. She quickly fell asleep, her small but full breasts swelling and ebbing in a slow, steady rhythm that Jorah watched in wonder.

About an hour into her slumber, Jorah lay fantasizing about a morning in which Dany would claim him as her man and kiss him in the daylight. In the silent darkness, he heard Dany's soft and child-like voice murmur,

"Kiss me again... yes, there... ungh..."

Jorah thought for a moment that she was awake, but quickly realized she was dreaming. He grinned to himself. Daenerys Stormborn Targaryan, Mother of Dragons, was having a dirty dream.

Dany took Jorah's hand, still laced in hers, and trailed it down her belly to the secret place between her thighs. Jorah had pleased her twice there already tonight with this very hand, but he was more than happy to do it again. He began fiddling with her folds and dipping his fingers into her, being gentle and slow, thinking that if he woke her, she would be absolutely horrified... or furious. In response to his ministrations, though, she simply rolled onto her back, prompting Jorah to switch hands. She remained fast asleep.

Jorah felt himself growing quite hard at the entire spectacle: Dany lying on her back, having kicked down the blankets, her silver hair sprawled around her head on the pillow, moaning in her sleep as Jorah fingered her.

Jorah's erection grew so insistent that when he realized he had a free hand, he snaked it up under his kilt, hiking the fabric up around his waist. Wantonly, he began to stroke himself, his two hands moving in rhythmic tandem, moving against Dany and himself at the same tempo.

"Mmm," Dany moaned, squirming beneath Jorah's hand. He had a sudden, hot rush of fear that she might groan a name that was not his own – Drogo's, probably – and that would ruin everything. Instead, he heard her say his name. Clearly. Too clearly.

"Jorah."

Her voice was staccato, maybe even sharp. Instantly, Jorah stilled his hands and froze. The heat in him turned to ice as he abruptly pulled his fingers out of Daenerys.

"Your Grace, I – I..." Jorah stammered, yanking his kilt down over his erection and wiping his fingers on the fabric.

"That is twice tonight you have been interrupted before you have reached your release, my knight," Dany smiled at him in the dark as she sat up, nude and radiant. She pulled the fabric of his kilt up again as Jorah stared up at her curiously.

Dany straddled Jorah and guided his hardened member toward her sodden entrance.

"You have mounted me once already, Jorah; it is only fair that your Khaleesi and Queen mount you, hmm?"

Jorah nodded hastily, wordlessly, as he slid into Dany, nearly coming on the spot, wondering to himself what the plan was to keep him from finishing inside her.

But all thought of that vanished as she began moving up and down on him, undulating her hips and rolling her torso. She was skilled at this, Jorah thought, banishing from his mind the thought of Daenerys with Khal Drogo.

He reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands – her lovely, small, soft breasts – manipulating the nipples with his thumbs carefully. Dany placed her hands over Jorah's and tipped her head back so that her long, flowing hair tickled Jorah's outstretched shins.

She began bouncing then, using her knees for support, and it was all Jorah could take to clench his teeth and groan rather loudly, saying her name over and over. Before he realized what was happening, he felt his seed spraying into her, warm and imperative in its spilling.

"Agh – fuck!" he yelled suddenly, too late, nearly throwing Daenerys off of him and flopping her onto the mattress beside him. She looked up at him, startled and surprised at the sudden interruption of their union, shocked at his vile curse, and then understood what had transpired.

"Oh," she said quietly, to herself. She did not look Jorah in the eye. "Oh."

"I'm so sorry, Khaleesi."

"Daenerys, to you, Jorah. At least in this room."

"I'm so sorry," he repeated, his mouth continuing to move mutely as he raked his calloused fingers through his mussed, brassy hair.

She was silent for a moment, then said, "It's my fault. I climbed onto you and moved on you when you were already aroused. I acted like a harlot."

Jorah furrowed his brow and shook his head, reaching out to touch his knuckles to Dany's temple.

"Never, Daenerys. I should not have touched you in your sleep, even if you did move my hand. I took advantage -"

"Then we both have regrets," Daenerys said abruptly, reaching for her gossamer gown and pulling it over her head. She stood beside the bed and tied its straps around her neck. Jorah dressed, too, extremely self-consciously. Never in his life had he been so acutely embarrassed of his body.

Never in his life had he been so acutely filled with sorrow.

He was experiencing a terrible jolt of emotion. Just minutes ago, he had been lost in bliss, fulfilling his dreams by lying near her, then watching her writhe around in her own dream. Now, she wouldn't even…

"Look at me, Daenerys."

It was the first time Jorah had ever told her what to do, besides the occasional "trust me." It was the first concrete command he'd ever given her. He braced himself for a slap for doing it.

Instead, she stepped up in front of him and looked up, directly into his eyes, her face rather pathetic.

"I am sorry for releasing myself inside you, Khaleesi. I am sorry for acting impulsively. I am _not _sorry for making love to you, and I am not sorry for being in love with you."

Jorah braced his cheek again, shutting his eyes, though no slap came. Rather, his face was met with the satiny brush of her lips kissing him gently, her little hand pulling the back of his head down to her.

"I'm not sorry for it, either," Dany said, and then she was gone, back to her own room, and Jorah did not see her until morning.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning, Ser Jorah found himself standing dressed and armed outside the Khaleesi's chamber, waiting for the women inside to emerge for breakfast. The blood riders had all gone; Jorah had dismissed them and had decided to be standing alone outside the room when Irri, Doreah, and Daenerys came out.

Inside, Dany's heart thumped clamorously in her chest as she caught a flash of yellow through the crack in the window shutter. Doreah was braiding her hair intricately and Dany was trying to obediently sit still, but she could see Jorah pacing back and forth outside her window, and for some reason she could not fully explain to herself, she wanted nothing more than to dash out the door and climb him like a tree.

"Khaleesi?"

"Hmm?" Daenerys realized she'd been completely ignoring Irri, who was readying her gown.

Irri looked gently at Daenerys. "You were crying when you came back last night, Khaleesi. Is everything all right?"

Dany teared up again. She shoved the tears back, blinking hard, and nodded resolutely. "Yes," she said firmly. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"There, Khaleesi. All done," Doreah said, patting Dany's thick braid. The two rose and stepped over to Irri so that Daenerys could get dressed. When at last all three women were ready to join Xaro Xhoan Daxos for breakfast, they walked toward the door, and Doreah reached for the heavy handle.

"Wait," Daenerys whispered, and she checked herself to make sure she looked perfect. Irri looked deliberately at Doreah while Dany's eyes were down, and Doreah grinned back.

"All right," Dany said, when she was satisfied. Doreah nodded and opened the door for the Khaleesi, who stepped triumphantly into the sunlight.

"My Queen," Jorah said, bowing rather low to her, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He tried to keep his eyes off of her and looked instead from one handmaiden to the other, but when Daenerys cleared her throat to get his attention, his eyes met hers and he sighed gently.

"Good morning, Ser," Dany said lightly, as if nothing at all had happened between them. His heart sank a bit when she used his title, though he admitted to himself that he had been just about as formal with her as he could have possibly been. His heart sank even further, though, when she looked around and confusedly asked, "Where are my blood riders?"

"They are breaking bread, Your Grace," Jorah answered. "I relieved them and told them I would escort you ladies to breakfast myself."

"But surely, Ser, you are exhausted from being awake all the night, and would have wanted to sleep in?"

Her smirk stung him as if she'd smacked him, and his cheeks reddened when her two handmaids began giggling rather uncontrollably. It would have been one thing if she'd grinned and winked at him with these words, or if she'd said them playfully – but she hadn't. She'd said them mockingly, and hurtfully, so he did the foolish thing and struck back. He could embarrass her in front of her handmaids as much as she'd embarrassed him.

"As my thoughts last night were consumed only with the protection of my Queen, I was wide awake from dusk 'till dawn, and wide awake still. Your radiance brings me all the wakefulness I need, Khaleesi." He bowed again.

The handmaids stopped giggling then. Irri raised her eyebrows, only partially understanding Jorah's complicated words. Doreah, for her part, appeared to positively swoon.

Daenerys showed absolutely no reaction. She was stone-faced.

"Doreah," she said to the maid behind her, still staring straight into Jorah's eyes, "Do you know where to go for breakfast?"

"To the Great Hall, Khaleesi," Doreah answered, lowering her gaze.

"Go there now. Take Irri with you. I will be along in a moment. Please give Xaro my apologies for my tardiness," Daenerys instructed, her eyes staying directly ahead.

"Yes, Khaleesi." Doreah and Irri quickly departed, scurrying off down the stairs away from Jorah and Daenerys and through the gardens.

Jorah frowned at Dany and sighed deeply when they were alone. She still showed no emotion.

"My radiance," she repeated, nodding her head once.

Jorah broke their gaze and looked down at his hands, which he brushed together as if trying to rid himself of something between them.

"I love you," he said simply, timidly. He thought she would slap him for sure this time. Instead, she hissed,

"Look me in the eye when you say something like that, Jorah."

So, he raised his eyes and, his breath trembling, repeated more boldly, "I love you, Daenerys Stormborn Targaryan."

Now it was Dany who appeared to swoon. She rushed forward and thrust her arms around Jorah's torso.

"As I love you," she murmured mournfully into his linen shirt, and Jorah was not ready for those words. He blinked away emotion and took a deep breath, and just as he prepared to speak, a voice rang out from below and behind them.

"Khaleesi?"

Daenerys jumped off of Jorah as if he were made of hot coals, and Jorah instantly put his left hand on the hilt of his sword.

Xaro Xhoan Daxos stepped up the stairs behind Jorah and gave the knight a knowing, small smile.

"Khaleesi," he said again, "I only wanted to see that all was well. Your presence is sorely missed at morning meal."

"I am coming now, my Lord," Daenerys insisted, taking Xaro's outstretched hand and stepping past Jorah as if he was not even there. It was like she had abruptly come to her senses, like she had realized she had been in a dream and had just awakened into reality.

Certainly, that was how Jorah felt.

At breakfast, Jorah sat across the massive, open square table from Daenerys, who sat to the right of Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Several times, she glanced up at him over her glass, but her expression was one of sorrow, or perhaps regret, rather than affection.

At the Qartheen party for her that evening, she was still reserved. She was formal with him, keeping her distance most of the evening.

It was after the party that Jorah grew concerned, for it was then that Xaro requested to speak alone with Daenerys, and they were gone a long while. Jorah waited anxiously in Dany's chamber with her dragons for her to return. He sat at a chair beside a table, listening to the dragons make little noises inside their basket cubes.

"Ser Jorah?" Doreah asked timidly.

"Yes?" He looked up from his ponderous state of mind.

"Is there anything I can get you?"

"Some wine, perhaps," he said, though he'd had plenty at the Qartheen party. His nerves were wracked with Daenerys off alone with Xaro. Jorah knew full well what Xaro wanted – he wanted Dany.

And Xaro seemed like a very convincing man. Certainly, he was a very rich man.

Doreah quickly brought a goblet and set it down before Jorah. He sighed as she poured red wine from a decanter.

"Thank you," he said kindly, smiling gently up at Dany's servant. "You are faithful to your Khaleesi," he noted appreciatively.

"As are you, Ser," she reciprocated.

"I will serve her all the days of my life," he swore, raising his cup to Doreah and taking a sip of wine to seal his vow.

Doreah looked impressed. She opened her mouth to say something, but just as she did, the door opened and Daenerys burst in, her eyes locked on Jorah and a look of frantic glee on her face.

Jorah nearly jumped to his feet and raised his eyebrows in surprise at Dany's expression.

"Doreah, Irri, leave us," Daenerys commanded, and the servants quickly departed the room.

When they'd gone, Daenerys said excitedly, "Jorah. Robert Baratheon is dead."

Jorah bit his lip, both in reaction to the news and in response to her again using only his first name. He raised his knuckles to his lips and looked quickly around the room.

"We must away to Westeros," he said, though that seemed obvious.

"Yes, and I've just the way. Xaro Xhoan Daxos has proposed marriage to me, and with that marriage will come all the riches of the wealthiest man in Essos, Jorah. Ships, horses, men. Everything and everyone I need to conquer the Seven Kingdoms and take back the throne that is mine."

Jorah was shocked. Was she honestly considering marrying Daxos purely for his money… when only this morning she'd professed her love for Jorah himself? Biting back emotion, he tried to speak practically to her. He tried to speak to her as an adviser to a queen.

"If you cross the sea with an army you bought…" Jorah began.

"The Seven Kingdoms are at war with one another. Four false kings destroying the country," Daenerys interrupted.

"To win Westeros, you need support from Westeros," Jorah argued.

"The usurper is dead!" Dany spat. "The Starks fight the Lannisters; the Baratheons fight each other!"

"According to your new friend," Jorah said with contempt, knowing he was treading a fine line, "who earned your trust by cutting his hand?"

Daenerys ignored his insolence. "The time to strike is now," she said plainly. "We need to find ships and an army or we'll spend the rest of our lives rotting away at the edge of the world."

Well, Jorah thought, at least she had specified '_our_ lives'.

Still, he continued to argue with her. "Rich men do not become rich by giving more than they get. They'll give you ships and soldiers and they'll own you forever. Moving carefully is the hard way, but it's the right way."

"And if I'd listened to that advice outside the gates of Qarth," Daenerys said with pride, "we'd all be dead by now."

Jorah sighed patiently. "I know the opportunity before you seems like the last you'll ever have, but you must-"

"Do not speak to me like I'm a child!"

Jorah realized, too late, that that was precisely what he was doing. He sighed again, more heavily this time. Daenerys stepped away from him angrily.

He began, carefully, "I only want-"

"What _do_ you want? Tell me."

Her words were so loaded with meaning that Jorah was overwhelmed. Did he want her as a lover, as a mate? Did he want her as a Queen? Did he want to help her? What _did_ he want, and what was he willing to reveal to her in this moment?

"To see you on the Iron Throne," he said confidently.

"Why?"

"You have a good claim. A title. A birthright." _And you are perfect,_ Jorah thought, so he continued, "But you have something more than that. You may cover it up and deny it, but you have a gentle heart." He, better than anyone else on the Earth, knew that well. Daenerys looked mildly uncomfortable at his words, but Jorah kept going. "You would not only be respected and feared; you would be loved. Someone who can rule and should rule – centuries come and go without a person like that coming into the world. There are times when I look at you and still can't believe you're real."

He realized, then, that he'd strayed into the territory of fawning over her, and he took a step back, because he had the distinct feeling that his love was truly unrequited.

Daenerys gave a quiet little huff at Jorah's words and quickly looked away from him, her eyes scanning in front of her as if looking for something onto which to grasp.

"So what would you have me do?" she asked. "As my… _advisor_?"

Jorah paused for a moment, recovering himself. "Make your own way," he answered. "Find your own ship; you only need one. The allies we need are in Westeros, not Qarth."

"And how do I get the ship?" she asked, still not looking at him.

"I'll find it for you."

She nodded.

"A sound ship with a good captain," Jorah clarified.

Daenerys turned at last to Jorah and looked him in the eye. "I look forward to meeting him."

Taking this as his dismissal from what had become an incredibly awkward moment, Jorah snapped to attention and bowed to her. "Khaleesi," he said, not daring to speak her given name. He strode from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

It was quite late, probably midnight, he thought, and he hadn't had sleep in about forty hours. He was so physically exhausted that there was no sense in him even considering leaving on his mission to find a ship until he'd had a good eight hours of sleep. He walked past the blood riders guarding Dany's room and into his own chamber next door, realizing he'd left a full glass of wine sitting on Dany's table. For a crazy moment, he considered going back for it.

But all thought of that was gone when he saw the plush bed awaiting him. He quickly stripped down, deciding to sleep in the short linen breeches he wore beneath his kilt to the party. He peeled off his shirt and unpinned the necktie he'd donned, unwrapped his kilt, and shucked his shoes. Climbing gratefully between the blankets of the lavish bed, he wrapped himself in the warm fluff and almost instantly fell asleep.

Of course, he dreamed vividly of Daenerys. In his dream, she was with him on Bear Island. They were strolling on a rocky shore, she in a fur-trimmed cloak and long velvet dress, him in his old clothes of a lord. She was smiling, laughing, though he couldn't hear what about, and she had a handful of pebbles that she was tossing into the crashing waves.

Jorah had no idea how long he'd been asleep when he was jolted out of his blissful reverie by an insistent knock on his chamber door.

_Something's wrong,_ he thought, snatching his sword from beside him and dashing to the door. Before he could panic, though, he heard a voice call through the thick wood.

"It's just me, Jorah." Her voice was muffled and muted, but it was obviously Dany.

Jorah considered rushing to put on his shirt, or ditch his sword, but decided to do neither, and instead rushed to unlatch the door and pull it open.

He realized he must look a sight, clad only in beige linen breeches, his hair mussed, his eyes bleary with sleep, clutching a shining sword like a madman. She laughed when she saw him, and for a moment Jorah couldn't decide if he was still dreaming.

"You were sleeping." Daenerys noted the obvious. She was still wearing the blue gown she'd worn to the party. Jorah figured he hadn't been asleep for long. "We'll talk in the morning. I'm sorry for waking you." She averted her eyes and turned to go.

Jorah reached for her elbow and gently pulled her back. "If it's important to you, Khaleesi, I will get dressed and we will talk now."

"No. You are exhausted. It's obvious." She shook her head guiltily.

"Something is keeping you awake." Jorah narrowed his sleepy eyes and shook his head suspiciously.

Daenerys looked like there was much she needed to say and nothing she wanted to say. She cleared her throat and looked at Jorah's hand on her elbow. He quickly let go, but she grabbed his fingers and laced them in hers, surprising him. She stared at their hands.

"I drank all the wine in the goblet you left behind," she said, smiling sadly, "Because your lips had touched the cup."

Jorah's mouth opened, though he had precisely no idea what to say.

"Then, because you're leaving me in the morning and I'm not sure when I'll see you again, I had some more wine, and some more," she said, and Jorah realized he had been too tired and depleted to notice that she was swaying slightly on her feet and that her eyes were glazed. Indeed, her words were blending, not because Jorah's ears were exhausted, but because she was slurring them. His Khaleesi was drunk.

He was abruptly worried about the Dothraki blood riders taking advantage of her if they realized her condition, or of one of the Qartheen servants doing so.

"Please, Khaleesi, come inside," Jorah said gently, pulling tenderly on her hand.

"We need to talk," she insisted, stepping obediently into the chamber. Jorah shut the door behind her and put his sword down on the table, guiding Daenerys into a chair. "But you need to sleep."

"So do you," Jorah said. "I don't want the men outside your chamber knowing how much wine you've had." She swayed in her seat, and Jorah put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

"Don't you trust them? They're my people," Daenerys said.

"I don't trust anyone but you, my Queen," Jorah told her. Dany's head lolled. How much wine had she had? Would she be sick, or pass out? Jorah was truly worried about her now, and angry with her handmaids. Which of them had let her drink so much?

"Let's get you into the bed," Jorah suggested, hoisting Daenerys up under her arms to a standing position. She walked over to the bed – staggered, really – and fumbled with the wide metal belt around her waist. Jorah helped her shuck it and lie down between the blankets.

He realized he was still only wearing his breeches. He walked over to where his clothes were folded and picked up his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Dany's voice rang out behind him.

"Getting dressed so I can keep an eye on you," Jorah answered.

"No," Dany said simply. Jorah turned around, looking amused.

"No?" he repeated.

Daenerys patted the bed beside her. "Lie down with me," she said, sounding regal and commanding even in her intoxicated state.

Jorah did as he was bid, but he lay on top of the blankets, while Dany was tucked beneath them. She rotated to face him, her hands neatly folded under her head. Jorah propped himself up on his elbow and gazed into her glazed eyes.

"What did you need to talk to me about, Your Grace?"

"Stop it."

Jorah looked confused and shook his head, shrugging.

"I may be carrying your child even as we speak," Daenerys said.

"And for that reason, among many others, you should not be drunk," Jorah chastised.

Daenerys began to weep then, and Jorah had never, ever seen her cry. It must have been the wine, he thought, because nothing she had faced thus far had brought her to tears in front of him.

He reached out and gently brushed tears off of her cheeks. "What's wrong, Dany?"

"You're more than old enough to be my father. You're supposed to be my advisor. But you're in love with me. And whether or not I want it, I'm in love with you, too. And you… came… in me last night. And today another man proposed marriage to me, promising me things you could never give me."

"Marry that man," Jorah said, "and you will never be loved the way I love you. Don't you think Xaro Xhoan Daxos would have a wandering eye?"

"And you?"

"In my eye, in my mind, in my heart… there is only _you_, Daenerys. Since the day I met you, there has only been you. Forever, there will only be you. Even if you reject me, I will never have another woman, because whether or not you take it, my heart belongs to you." Jorah leaned forward and planted a very soft kiss on Dany's lips to prove his point.

Before he could withdraw, Dany grasped his face in his hands and pulled him back into her. She kissed him fiercely, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. She tasted sweet; she tasted of wine.

"Mmph," Jorah sighed into the kiss, placing his hand on Dany's braided hair.

After a long moment, he broke the seal between them and pulled away, determined not to take things farther. She was drunk, after all, and may regret it in the morning. He had made many a mistake while drunk before, in his youth, and had regretted them all. He would not facilitate that for Daenerys.

He would not be a mistake.

"Let's go to sleep," he whispered, stroking her head and looking lovingly into her piercing gaze. "We'll talk more when the sun comes up."

"Yes; you need your rest," Daenerys agreed. She laced her hand into Jorah's and nestled her head into the pillow. She was asleep in minutes.

Jorah fell asleep watching her breathe, and soon descended into more dreams about her.

He had promised to talk more with her in the morning, but when he rose, she was still sound asleep, and he had a ship to fetch for her. He left her sleeping in the bed with a note on the pillow beside her:

"_When I return, I will have a ship for you, and we can do all the talking you'd like._

_ I love you._"


	3. Chapter 3

Jorah walked briskly down the quay, scanning the faces of the sailors and vendors he passed. Did this man look reputable? Did that man look like he had something to offer? Finally, he caught the eye of a captain in a leather jerkin, gruff-looking and salty, but somehow refined and dignified.

"Where and when do you sail, Captain?" Jorah asked, pausing in his quick steps to address the man. The captain turned away from the sailors he was supervising and said to Jorah,

"Astapor. A few days, as soon as we fill up with cargo."

"And if your cargo were men?" Jorah posited cautiously. The captain narrowed his eyes.

"What men?" he asked. "Who are you, Andal, that you wish to sail men to Astapor from Qarth?"

Jorah stood up straighter. "I am Jorah Mormont, of Bear Island. I travel with a Queen above all Kings, and she seeks a ship for her men. To Astapor, perhaps, and then on to Westeros."

The captain raised his brows. "A Queen above all Kings? Is this the Mother of Dragons of whom we all hear?" he asked. "An interesting proposition. An intriguing offer, Andal. I would - "

"Ser Jorah!"

Jorah whirled around at the sound of his name. A boy of no more than twelve, filthy and clad in rags, came dashing down the boardwalk toward him, scattering seagulls in his path.

"Ser Jorah," the boy panted more quietly as he approached, bending over at the waist and huffing. Jorah put his hand on the boy's back and looked up at the captain, who sensed that there was trouble and enthusiastically walked away. Jorah returned his eyes to the boy, and asked,

"How long have you been running?"

"Hours, Ser. Hours." He seemed as though he would collapse on the spot, and Jorah looked around for a way to get the boy water.

"I come… I come," the boy began, looking up over the hoods of his eyes at Jorah, "from the great priestess Quaithe of Asshai. I come with horrible news."

Jorah's heart sank. Daenerys was dead, he thought. Quaithe, the masked priestess from the garden party, knew too much about his relationship with the Khaleesi. She would know to send a messenger to inform him of Dany's fate. Something had happened to her.

"Is she safe?" Jorah managed to choke, not really wanting the answer.

"The Mother of Dragons lives," the boy replied cryptically. "But much of the khalasar is dead. The handmaidens are dead. And the dragons are gone."

Jorah sucked in breath sharply and bit hard on his lip. What on Earth had happened? The dragons had been stolen? Dany's companions had been slain, yet she survived? He needed to get back immediately.

It had taken him nearly a day to walk down to the quay from Xaro's palace, though, for the man dwelled miles away from the shore, and the city was crowded and winding between. There was no quick way back but walking. Unlike the lithe, small little urchin, Jorah could not run for hours without stopping, much less manage to dash through the streets without shoving people aside.

So he did what he could. He gave the urchin a few coins for his troubles and started walking back to the palace as quickly as possible, knowing it would take him too long to get there.

As he threaded the narrow passageways of Qarth that led him back to Daenerys, he thought of Doreah, the kind girl who had brought him wine as he waited for Dany. He thought of Rogorro, the young member of the khalasar who argued with Jorah about whose horse was better. Most of all, though, he thought of Dany. He thought of the lavender and rose scent of her silver hair, the dusky glow of her pale skin in the moonlight outside his chamber, the adorable blur of her words after she'd indulged in an insane amount of wine… her words, telling him that she'd drunk his cup dry just because his lips had touched it…

Jorah shivered despite the blazing Qartheen heat. What would he possibly do without her? How could he ever have sent messages to Varys about her, behind her back? Worst of all, what would he do, how would he live, if she _ever_ discovered his betrayal? Someday, he knew she would. It was an inevitability. He would never tell her, but someone else would. Someday, when they reached Westeros, somehow, word would get around to her that Jorah had been one of Varys' "little birds."

He'd been so jealous when he'd found out she was pregnant. It wasn't his child, after all, that she carried in her womb. It was Drogo's, and Jorah had been disgusted by the thought of the Khal's seed inside of her. He had wanted to vomit at the thought of her pleasuring the Dothraki warrior. When he'd seen them kiss, he'd looked away out of sheer envy. It had left a metallic, bitter taste in his mouth to see Drogo's lips touch Daenerys. Those should have been _his_ lips, he'd told himself then, and he was still telling himself now. But she had not been his wife then, and she was not his wife now, either.

Jorah was brushing dry his cheek before he realized he'd shed tears in his shame. He pulled aside along a stone wall beside a fountain to catch his breath and collect his thoughts.

_Stop dwelling in the past_, he chastised himself. _Think only of what lies ahead, of what you must do now to protect and serve her – to love her properly._

Jorah took a deep draught of water from the fountain and continued resolutely on his way.

Daenerys stood pacing in her chamber, her tears gone but her sadness and anger remaining. She heard footsteps running up the stairs outside the door of her room, and she whirled around frantically, suddenly terrified. She had so few blood riders to protect her, and an assassin could easily reach her now. She was incredibly relieved to see, though, that it was Jorah.

"You came back." The relief in her words poured forth like a waterfall.

"As soon as I heard." He stood in the doorway, unannounced and dirty, catching his breath. Daenerys liked him that way, unkempt and panting. She shoved desirous thoughts from her mind as she returned herself to the horrific present.

"It's all gone, Jorah. Most of my khalasar. My children. Irri…"

"Doreah?" Jorah asked, and for some bizarre reason, some strange stroke of jealousy caused Daenerys to narrow her eyes at the prompt.

"She's missing," Dany answered. "I can only assume–"

"Don't let's assume anything just yet, my Queen," Jorah cautioned, holding up his hand as if to stop her as she advanced across the room toward him. "It will only make greater your grief."

"I'm all alone," Daenerys said sadly, looking away.

Jorah walked briskly toward her. He put his one hand on her shoulder, the other brazenly brushing under her chin and guiding her face to look at his.

"You were never alone," he insisted, "And you're not alone now. I'm here. I'm with you, Khaleesi."

"Why call me that?" she asked, "When half my men are slain, when my maids are dead? When I have led my people to slaughter?"

"Never has there ever been a Khaleesi like you," Jorah assured her, "For all the right reasons."

Daenerys tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. She lowered her gaze, looking sad again.

"I serve you now more than ever," Jorah swore. "Tell me what I must do."

Daenerys looked up into Jorah's eyes, her face suddenly resolute.

"Find my dragons," she said firmly.

Jorah took a step back and bowed. "Your Grace," he murmured.

As he turned to leave her again, Daenerys sighed and called,

"Wait."

He swiveled on his feet mid-step and turned back to her expectantly.

"Before you go," Daenerys said timidly, "Kiss me. Like you did the night we made love."

Jorah half-smiled weakly at her. Under almost any other circumstances, he would be overjoyed that Dany was asking for a kiss – asking him to recreate the night he'd first taken her. Today, though, he had his doubts. He suspected that she really only needed comfort and security in his arms and lips. Well, for her sake, he could provide that.

He stepped carefully back to her and swept his left hand under the back of her head, beneath her thick hair. His right hand rested gently on her cheek and jawbone. He tipped her head up to him and slowly brushed his raw lips against her satiny ones, breathing softly onto her. He felt her breath back on his own skin, quick and impatient.

"Jorah," she whispered fervently, her mouth a fraction of an inch away from his, "I said, '_kiss _me_.'_"

He chuckled then, at her exasperation, and at what she was defining as a kiss in this moment.

His left hand slid down her back to catch in its small hollow, and his right hand clutched her cheek more firmly. His lips plunged onto hers then, enthusiastically pulling her mouth into his and caressing her tongue with his own.

"Mmm," Daenerys hummed into his mouth, her voice low and husky. The vibration sent Jorah's head spinning.

After a long moment, Jorah pulled away from her, and she reluctantly let him go. He took deep breaths, drawing as much air into his lungs as he could.

"There," he said triumphantly, giving her a rare grin. "I kissed you."

"So you did," she replied, reaching up and brushing a stray lock of his untamed brassy hair off his forehead.

"Give me an hour before I leave," Jorah begged desperately, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just an hour. I promise I will make it worth your while, and then I swear, Daenerys, I will find your dragons."

"My dragons…" She seemed to snap back into reality for a moment. She'd been lost in his kiss, and his words, spoken perhaps unwisely, reminded her of why he'd come back to her in the first place. She looked at the table where the dragons had once sat in their baskets and sighed mournfully.

"Daenerys."

She looked back at him, her gaze sad. She clenched her eyes tightly shut and shook her head as if to rid her mind of distracting thoughts.

"All right!" she said, her eyes still shut. "One hour."

Jorah smiled to himself. If he had to leave her again, for the gods only knew how long, could they not have one more meeting together that was at least relatively happy, amidst all this madness and grief?

He took her by the elbow and gently guided her to the bed. Her hair was loose and crimped, released from braids except for two that strung back along the crown of her head and were interlaced down the back. Jorah was always amazed by Dany's hair; it was constantly startlingly lovely. He told her so now, purring it into her ear as she sank down onto the soft bed.

She smiled demurely at his compliment, two little spots of color appearing on her alabaster cheeks.

"So," she asked quietly, "How will you use your hour, Ser Jorah?" She paused then, and looked taken aback at her own words. "I feel rather like a whore, putting it that way," she giggled.

Jorah's eyes widened in mock horror. "Gods be good," he said dramatically, "You are anything but."

"Just take my clothes off, please," Daenerys requested, her haste returning to the situation. She was wearing an interesting Qartheen tunic and skirt that Jorah found rather difficult to remove, as he was not familiar with the style, but she helped him with the disrobing, and she scrambled to rid him of his own clothes. Before Jorah knew what was happening, Dany was pulling him onto the bed with her, and they were both utterly exposed.

Interestingly, Jorah thought, Daenerys wanted him on top of her. She was submitting herself to him, though she was his Queen, and he her knight. Jorah did not want to simply mount her and take her plainly, though, so he arranged her limbs in a more noteworthy configuration before entering her.

Daenerys lay on her back on the bed, and Jorah placed a pillow under her head. He pushed Dany's knees up to her breasts and crossed her legs at her ankles. He knelt directly in front of her and leaned in, pulling Dany's hips onto his angled lap. Daenerys, keeping her thighs glued together, gently pressed her feet against Jorah's chest for leverage as he slowly entered her.

As he moved back and forth with steady, snug thrusts, Daenerys stroked his thighs, her touch light and airy as her fingertips brushed the wiry hair on his rough skin.

Jorah shut his eyes and took a deep breath as he held Dany's hips. He was over stimulated again. As he thrust into her, he thought,

_Please your woman. Give her this time. Then go find her dragons. Make her happy – in every way._

"Look at me, Jorah," he heard, her voice small and weak as she panted beneath him. He forced his eyes open and met Dany's gaze. She returned his stare with a desperate, anxious look.

"Are you all right?" he asked, pausing his motions. Her stare confused and concerned him.

She looked immensely frustrated, though, when he stopped moving, and said through clenched teeth,

"I'm perfectly fine. Do. Not. Stop."

Jorah chuckled and resumed his ministrations, more vigorously this time. He knew he was grinding against her in just the right ways – after all, this position was designed to bring a woman to climax, and wasn't that precisely what he was trying to do? He was trying to comfort her, to give her an hour of bliss and satisfaction within the context of a dreadful situation.

It worked. She was writhing around him moments later, her voice echoing in the chamber as she repeated his name feverishly, as if she was hallucinating.

It was too much for Jorah. He pulled out of her and clutched himself, finishing in the chamber pot beneath the bed. _Well_, he thought, _Better than last time_.

Last time. That reminded him – was she carrying his child? His _bastard_? It was far too soon to know. Jorah sighed as he sat perched nude on the edge of the bed, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to process the madness swirling around him.

He felt Dany's little hands on his shoulders, rubbing gently, massaging him, and he groaned gratefully. Then the disbelief hit him. This was his Khaleesi, his Queen… giving him a neck massage? He bit his lip at the impropriety of it and turned his head.

She was ready for him, and met his lips with her own, surprising him. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his scruffy cheeks, and Jorah was suddenly overwhelmed by Dany's affection. He was reminded of her words just a few days earlier –

"_As I love you._"

Had she meant it? Did she mean that she had love for him as a Queen for a knight, as in courtly love? Or did she mean that she was in love with him, like he was with her? He needed to know her feelings. No more could Jorah abide physical interaction with Daenerys without knowing if he was engaging in a completely unrequited love affair.

"Did you get my note?" Jorah asked quietly, rotating and pulling Daenerys down to lay prone with him on top of the mussed blankets. She lay flush against him, tossing her leg over his and flinging her arm across his torso.

"Yes," she nodded into his shoulder. "I did."

"I meant it."

"I know you did."

Jorah sighed. That was the answer he'd been expecting, in his heart of hearts, though not the one he'd wanted or wished for.

After a split second of silence, though, Daenerys said, so softly her knight barely heard her,

"I love you, too, Jorah."

Jorah's heart began to race, and, because Dany's ear was pressed to his chest, she heard it and chortled softly into the hair on his sternum, patting his firm pectoral muscle with her delicate fingers.

"This has been going on a long while, hasn't it?" she asked. "You've loved me since I was Drogo's." She looked up at him and continued mockingly, "You coveted me."

"I've loved you since I first laid eyes on you," Jorah asserted.

"I loved the books you gave me," Daenerys teased, and Jorah chuckled. "The truth, though? I grew to love Drogo, but early on, when I was still very afraid of him, there were times when he was taking me when I thought of your face for comfort. You were always my knight in shining armor."

"My armor is hardly shining," Jorah sighed. Finding himself thirsty from his exertion, he sat up, Daenerys sliding off of him. He rose, slipping on his linen breeches that lay crumpled on the floor, and poured himself a goblet of wine.

"Ugh – wine!" Daenerys cried, burying her face in her hands. "How drunk was I?"

Jorah took a deep sip of the red wine and set the goblet down, turning back to the bed with a half-smile.

"Rather drunk indeed," he answered. "Though I promise I took no advantage. I merely slept beside you."

"A valiant knight," Daenerys said admiringly, pushing herself up onto her elbow to appraise him.

"I was simply trying to protect you," Jorah proclaimed proudly, "from those who _would_ take advantage of a Khaleesi who'd overindulged." He raised his eyebrows sanctimoniously at her and took another sip of wine.

Daenerys snorted and rolled her eyes. "Because you've _never_ had too much wine over a woman," she said scornfully.

"Oh, I have," Jorah admitted. "Lynesse nearly turned me into a sniveling, pathetic drunkard."

"The one who ran away."

"Aye. And the one who forced me to Essos." Jorah raised his goblet in a mock toast, looking off into the distance as if he could see Lynesse's face on the horizon.

"But if you were in Westeros still, you'd be fighting for the Starks, probably, and you'd never have met me."

Jorah considered this for a moment. It was true. If Lynesse hadn't bankrupted him, he would never have sold slaves. If he hadn't sold slaves, he would never have had a bounty put on him by Ned Stark. If that hadn't happened, he wouldn't be in Essos. If he weren't in Essos, he would most likely have never wound up in the service of Daenerys Targaryan, the exiled Queen.

"Funny, isn't it?" he said somewhat resentfully, "The ways in which the gods decide to bring people together? There had to be an easier way."

"Wasn't it you who told me that the hard way was the right way?" Daenerys prompted from the bed, raising her eyebrows at him. She looked regal, truly regal, Jorah thought, her lovely little breasts exposed as she stretched out atop the blankets, her silver hair cascading around her. She looked like a statue.

"You're beautiful," he noted, taking another sip of wine. She giggled self-consciously.

Jorah began getting dressed then, which made Daenerys look sad. He helped her clothe herself, as there was no way she'd be able to do it alone. He belted his sword around his hips and instinctively placed a hand on the hilt.

"I will find your dragons," he told Daenerys, who raked her fingers through her mussed hair distractedly.

She nodded, looking him in the eye.

"Kiss me goodbye."

He did, fiercely, his lips feeling bruised when he broke away. He realized he was holding her hand tightly, and as he backed out the door, he held onto it for as long as he possibly could, his fingertips finally parting with hers with their arms extended. Just before he turned to dash down the stairs, he looked Daenerys square in the eye and said again,

"I promise, Khaleesi. I will find your dragons."


	4. Chapter 4

"Jorah the Andal. You came for the dragons."

Quaithe spoke in a delicate, chary voice. Jorah narrowed his eyes. This woman unnerved him. How did she know it was him, without even turning around? Why did she feel the need to mask her face, anyway? And why in the name of all the gods was she painting a man's back with the blood from a ram's skull?

Jorah had come to Quaithe because he had no idea where else to go. He had precisely no clue where to start looking for Dany's dragons in this mysterious city. However, if anyone in Qarth would know where Jorah should look, he thought it would be the enigmatic Quaithe of Asshai. When she said, "You came for the dragons," Jorah's heart skipped a beat.

"You have them? Where are they?" He instantly put hand to hilt.

Quaithe's reaction to his show of aggression was swift. She turned to him and, as if mocking him, said,

"Draw your sword; see what your steel is worth."

Though her eyes were the only thing Jorah could see, he saw no fear at all in them, and he released his sword.

"You want to please the Mother of Dragons," Quaithe continued. Jorah pursed his lips, for Quaithe could read him like a book. "You love her."

As Quaithe turned away from him to return to her macabre painting, Jorah felt his face twist into a grimace of pain in reaction to her words.

The question she asked next wounded him even more deeply.

"Will you betray her again, Jorah the Andal?" She looked at him as if reading his mind. Jorah hardly doubted that that was what she was doing.

Jorah steeled his face and stood up straighter. He cleared his mind and locked his jaw.

"Never," he said resolutely.

"The thief you seek is with her now," Quaithe said then, turning steadily back to her gruesome artwork.

Jorah took a few steps back, confounded. Then he ran. He ran as fast as a man could in armor, and he did not stop running until he had found Daenerys just in the nick of time, surrounded by ghostly clones of Pyat Pree, the Thirteen slain.

He rushed her away from the chaos, not daring stay anywhere near Xaro Xhoan Daxos' palace. They had to go into hiding, Jorah thought.

He made flight to a disused courtyard in the city with Daenerys and Kovarro, the blood rider who had survived slaughter and had been with Daenerys at Pyat Pree's slaying of the Thirteen.

As the trio stood in the courtyard, and the sun began to set, Daenerys turned to Jorah and said,

"We must find them. My dragons. Now, Ser Jorah!"

"Khaleesi, it is almost nightfall. I must advise that we stay here until morning, and then we can make a decision about what to do."

"I don't feel safe here," she insisted, shaking her head.

"Kovarro and I will keep watch all night. You can sleep soundly, Khaleesi." Jorah was speaking so formally to her, in Dothraki, because of Kovarro being present. Of course, Kavarro must not know the level of informality that truly existed between Daenerys and himself. Perhaps 'informality' was a massive understatement. 'Intimacy' might be more accurate.

"I can sleep soundly?" Daenerys looked at Jorah with skepticism. "On the ground?"

When Jorah gave her a somewhat chastising look and gestured to the grass patch in the center of the courtyard, Daenerys humbled and nodded.

"I have slept on much worse in the Red Waste," she admitted. "Though I doubt I will get much rest worrying so much about my children."

There she was again, claiming the dragons to be her children. Jorah sighed, a miniscule, almost imperceptible sigh. Night was falling fast. They could not build a fire. He had no means to keep Daenerys warm, and Qartheen nights could get quite chilly, being a desert city.

Even Kovarro looked like he was beginning to shiver slightly.

"Kovarro," Jorah said to the blood rider, pointing to the archway where they'd come in, "Stand guard there until I come get you."

Kovarro nodded and jogged off with his arakh in hand. When he was out of earshot, Jorah looked at Daenerys and spoke to her in the Common Tongue.

"I will keep you warm," he offered, "if you will let me hold you."

Dany gave him a half-smile. "Your armor seems cold, Ser."

"I can remove it."

"The better to guard me," Daenerys countered. "I will be fine." She lay down on the grass on her back and stared up at the cerulean sky, tucking her hands behind her head. "I'm hungry," she said.

"Shall I send Kovarro to try to find you some food?"

"Too conspicuous." Daenerys shook her head. "We went without food for much longer in the Red Waste. I'm spoiled now." She sighed. "I'm spoiled about many things, I suppose."

Jorah stepped up beside Daenerys and sank down onto the grass, sitting cross-legged beside the prone Khaleesi.

"You seem very humble to me," he insisted, "For a queen."

She smiled in the blue glow and looked at him. Her fingers picked absently at the grass, but stopped moving abruptly, and her smile disappeared slowly.

"I'm bleeding," she said quietly.

Jorah broke their gaze and looked down at the grass. Now he began picking at it, ripping at the blades rather aggressively.

"Oh," was all he said.

"_Oh_?"

"Well, that's good, I suppose," Jorah sighed, looking back at Daenerys, though the sadness in his eyes betrayed his heart. "Isn't it?"

Daenerys looked horrified. "You _wanted_ the child!"

"There is no child to want, Dany."

"For pity's sake, don't call me that right now," Daenerys spat, too loudly. Jorah looked over to Kovarro, who glanced back curiously.

"I'm sorry," Jorah murmured, more to himself than to Daenerys.

"Why would you want to impregnate me with your bastard when I am vying to reclaim my rightful throne as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?" she demanded, sitting upright.

"Please, Daenerys, you don't know the half of - "

"_Why_?"

Jorah sighed with compunction and shame. "My lady wife died after three miscarriages," he reminded her. "I have no children of my own. No progeny. And I have no wife."

"Well, perhaps you should get one, then," Daenerys told him, pushing herself up to her feet, "If any will have you." She stalked away from him.

Determinedly, Jorah pushed himself up as well and quickly followed her. She walked with her arms crossed over her chest, but Jorah reached for Dany's shoulder to pull her back to face him. She let herself be turned but rolled her eyes at Jorah and tipped her head to the side, huffing out air at him.

"Will you have me?" Jorah asked breathlessly.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes and scoffed. "Are you proposing marriage, Ser Jorah?"

"Perhaps I am."

"How lucky am I!" Daenerys said derisively. "First Xaro Xhoan Daxos; now you! Men are falling from the sky for me. And neither of them are suitable consorts for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Nothing anyone had ever said to Jorah Mormont had ever wounded his pride more. Not when Lynesse had told him she was leaving him, or when her new husband threatened him with slavery. Not when Ned Stark told him he was up for execution. Not when Lord Varys humiliated him by offering him pardon in exchange for treachery. Nothing had ever come close to being this painful.

He was not suitable. Hadn't she told him she loved him? Hadn't she begged him to kiss her, nestled in the bed with him? Hadn't they _made love_, numerous times?

"Am I nothing but a toy to you, Daenerys?" Jorah asked, his voice shaking. "Something to play with until it's no fun anymore, and then you can toss it away and move on to the next entertaining object?" He shrugged helplessly, his armor creaking pathetically.

Dany sighed. She kept her arms crossed and turned away. "You should know me well enough by now," she said, "to know that I don't trust anyone, really."

"You can't let anyone in," Jorah said in a revelatory voice. "Not even me, of all people. I, who have stood beside you through _everything._ I was there for you when Khal Drogo first ravished you. I was there when your son was taken from you. I killed a man in your defense and carried you in my arms into the tent for care. I stayed with you when the khalasar fled. I watched you walk into a pyre. I knelt before you when you emerged with dragons on your shoulders. I followed you into the Red Waste and through the gates of Qarth, and I have been here ever since." Jorah swallowed hard. "Is all of that worth _nothing_?"

"Is that not the service for which you were assigned to me, Ser?" Daenerys asked, her voice icy.

"Dany, what is going on?" Jorah hissed, desperately. "Two days ago you lay naked in bed beside me and murmured to me that you loved me. Are you a liar, or - "

"You _dare_ call your Queen a liar?" Daenerys whirled on him, her fists flying to her sides and her face shooting up to be inches away from his.

"If you're not a liar, then kiss me," Jorah said calmly, his lips moving to an infinitesimal distance from hers.

"No," Daenerys said stubbornly, her breath hot on Jorah's skin.

"Then I will kiss you," Jorah said, and he took her cheeks firmly in his hands and leaned down, pressing his mouth to hers and urging her lips open. At first, she kept her mouth obstinately closed, and she squealed angrily, raising her hand to slap him hard.

But after just a moment, her lips drifted open, and her hand paused in mid-air. Jorah caught it and laced his own fingers through hers, lowering the hand and putting it on his left hip. Jorah's tongue surged into Dany's mouth and instantly began a dance with hers, an eager ballet that was at once familiar and exciting.

Her furious wails changed into muted whimpers, and as he lowered his hands to surround her, she melted into his embrace.

He wouldn't have her tonight, Jorah knew, for many reasons. She had her moon's blood. They were outside with nowhere to go, and Kovarro was nearby. Though, Jorah thought absently as he kissed Daenerys, Kovarro could very well be watching them caressing each other right now.

At last, Jorah broke away from Daenerys.

"I'm not a liar," she panted. "I'm not a liar."

"So?" Jorah prompted.

"I'm sorry. I – I love you," Dany stammered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked distressed. "But I can't marry you."

Jorah nodded and looked at the ground, kicking a small stone with his boot.

"I know," he said. "But you needn't marry _anybody_ right this moment, Dany. You're not the kind of Queen who needs a consort. You can rule all by yourself."

Daenerys considered this. After a moment, she sighed and nodded at Jorah. "But you mustn't give me a bastard," she warned him.

Jorah bowed to her. "Your Grace," he said obediently.

"Your kisses burn like fire," she said somewhat contemptuously, pacing anxiously, "and it isn't fair, because it only works me up, and there's precisely nothing I can do about it, because I have my moon's blood, so I can't have you."

"I'm sorry you're frustrated, Khaleesi. I won't tease you anymore. I promise." Jorah grinned internally. He had her so turned on that she was wandering, her fingers pressed to her lips, her eyes scanning the courtyard apprehensively. She was activated with no chance for release.

"Well," she said slyly, quietly, stopping her nervous pacing as if she'd had an idea and looking at Jorah, who was watching her with amusement, "I suppose I _can_ have you, in a way. I can take you with my mouth."

Jorah's eyebrows shot up. He'd never had anyone offer to do that before, much less actually do it. Not his lady wife, not Lynesse, not even a whore. Never before had his cock been in a woman's mouth. He wasn't sure if he would like it.

"Uh…" Jorah stammered, glad that Daenerys could not see the red glow he was sure was staining his cheeks. He shook his head and looked down at the stone he'd kicked. He kicked it again, dusting his boots in the gravel. "I would not dominate you so, Khaleesi. It seems… improper."

"I offer it freely," she insisted. "I have been cruel to you this night. I believe I owe you an apology."

"You owe me nothing," Jorah replied, looking back up at her and self-consciously crossing his arms as much as he could in his armor. _Had_ she been cruel? She had reverted to formality and coldness. She had put space between them. She had mocked him for his desire for a child. He sighed scrupulously. Perhaps she had been unkind, if not cruel. For a few minutes, she hadn't seemed like the friendly, youthful yet guiding figure with whom he was in love. Jorah knew, though, that Daenerys had her reasons for being testy. Her _children_ were missing, after all, and without them, he suspected she felt empty and powerless. Most of her khalasar was dead, and those were the men that were supposed to fight for her to earn her back the Iron Throne.

She had reason to be dismayed, then. Wasn't it perhaps _he_, Jorah, who was being selfish, demanding attention and affection of her in this broken time of her life? What sort of a knight – what sort of _subject_ – was he if he could not submit to serve her faithfully at this painful moment without demanding back for himself? Jorah felt the fool, having thought he was some sort of priority in Dany's life. He was nothing. He was her vassal, she his sovereign. _That_ was their relationship.

Why, then, was Daenerys slithering her little hands around his hips and reaching for the ties at his waist? Why was she pressing her breasts up against his armor, teasing him as he could not feel her through the metal? Why in the name of all the gods did she find it necessary to stare at him through the darkness with a look in her eyes that made Jorah want nothing more than to plunder her?

"You owe me nothing, my Queen," he whispered again, and Daenerys shook her head.

"Come with me," she insisted, "into the cloister."

She took his hand and strode confidently behind the pillars before them into complete and total darkness. Jorah could see precisely nothing, but felt her hands on his chest and walked in reverse until his back touched a wall. The sound of his metal armor meeting the stone made him cringe.

Everything happened quickly then, and his head was absolutely spinning. He felt the fabric at his legs part and the drawstring of his breeches release, then the breeches being tugged down. Then he felt her lips meet his, one of her hands reach to rest between his head and the wall, and her other hand wrap around his member. Jorah sucked in breath hard through his nose as he kissed Daenerys, his hands pressed against her leather-covered back, holding her near.

Abruptly, her lips left his, and there was a pause. Jorah looked ahead of him, then down, but in the shadows could just barely make out Dany's silhouette. Deepest, darkest night had fallen, and there was no moon to illuminate the courtyard, let alone the cloisters.

Jorah gasped again when he felt wet warmth surround his manhood. It was not like entering her; it was not as tight, but it was pleasant and soothing. He felt her tongue stroking him as she moved him in and out of her mouth, utilizing her hand in tandem with her lips and tongue.

Jorah tipped his head back against the stone wall and released a low groan into the darkness. He whispered her name, rubbing his forehead and clutching his eyes shut – against what, he did not know. It did not take long before he grasped Dany's face tightly in his hands and pulled her back, for he felt himself fast approaching his culmination. She forced her head back onto him, making an insistent noise. Jorah raised his eyebrows and tipped his head back again, still holding on to Dany's head.

He tried not to grip her too tightly as he finished, breathing heavily and quickly into the brisk night air. When it was done, he felt himself being put back together again, his breeches being pulled back up, the ties around his waist restored.

Jorah's first thought was to give Daenerys water. He had a skin at his hip, and it was about half-full. He reached for her face in the darkness and shakily brought it to her lips. She drank gratefully, wordlessly thanking him with an "Mmm."

Jorah slipped his trembling hand through Dany's and leaned around the column to peek across the courtyard to where Kovarro stood guard. Though Jorah could only just make out the blood rider's silhouette if he squinted hard, he thought Kovarro had his back turned to the cloister. Jorah slipped out, Daenerys trailing behind him, grasping his hand.

They returned to the grassy square in the middle of the courtyard, and Jorah sat again.

"I'm tired, Jorah," Daenerys told him. "I haven't slept since the slaughter."

"Lay your head on my lap," Jorah offered. "and rest. It's no pillow, but it's probably more comfortable than the ground."

He unbuckled his sword from around his waist and lay it beside him, and patted his lap. Daenerys arranged herself so she was lying on the ground with her head on Jorah's thigh. She rotated toward him and absentmindedly stroked his breastplate with her fingertips.

"Are you going to wear your armor all night?" she asked.

"Probably," he answered. "I'd rather be prepared."

"Won't you be uncomfortable?"

"I don't care. I've worn it for much longer in the days of my youth," he told her. Jorah did not realize that his coarse fingers had strayed to Dany's silky silver hair and were tracing through the long, smooth strands. She said nothing of it. "I have more water," Jorah offered.

"I'm fine, thank you. Have it yourself," Daenerys told him. "It's not like I haven't done that before."

Jorah frowned. _For Drogo_. Why would she mention that? Why would she shove it in his face that he was not her first lover? Did she think he was unaware of how many times she'd had relations with Khal Drogo? Jorah had watched Daenerys walk into Drogo's tent at dusk himself many times. He had heard Dany's moans, Drogo's grunts, coming from that tent. He remembered the agony of it, now bubbling to the surface again. Why was she choosing to rub salt in that wound?

She _could_ be cruel, when she wanted to be, Jorah decided. He pulled his hand from her hair and scratched the scruff on his chin, putting both hands on the ground behind him and leaning back on them.

Daenerys pushed herself up a bit on his lap to look up at him.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "That was a stupid thing to say."

"No," Jorah insisted, though he secretly agreed with her. One could not tell a Queen she was being stupid, however. "Men are jealous creatures, Khaleesi," he said.

"So are women," Daenerys pronounced, lying back down on Jorah's lap. "You tell me of your lady wife and Lynesse… two women you've married, and many more I'm sure you've had. You've always been a handsome knight, Jorah. You're much older than me. Much more… experienced. I've only had Drogo and you."

She had a point there, he supposed. Jorah had had two wives and other women besides in his life, while Daenerys had only had two men – much older men – in her very short life. Who was he to get jealous? He should be honored, instead, that he was only the second man to take conquest of her, and the first after she was widowed.

His hand slowly drifted back to her hair and began stroking it again, and she sighed gently into his lap.

"Never leave me, Jorah," she whispered, her fingers still tapping the metal plate on his stomach.

"I am your knight until the end of my days, Your Grace," Jorah answered.

She was silent then, though Jorah felt a little pull on the fabric on his thigh as Daenerys took a fistful of it and gripped it, as if embracing him.

She did not speak again for hours, and Jorah knew she was asleep.

Throughout the night, she nestled more and more deeply into Jorah's lap, grasping him more desperately as morning approached.

_No_, Jorah thought as the warm sunlight began to spread over the abandoned courtyard and Daenerys stirred. _She's not a liar_.


	5. Chapter 5

Something was different about Daenerys after she left the House of the Undying.

The morning that Daenerys woke in Jorah's lap, the first thing she said was,

"It's time to go get my dragons, Jorah. Take me to them."

So Jorah did, though he was worn out from watching Dany sleep all night. Kovarro was clearly tired too; he'd stood guard through the night and now would do it longer as Dany entered the warlocks' lair.

Jorah tried hard to convince Daenerys not to go. He told her that going to the warlocks' fortress was exactly what they wanted her to do. He told her that the dragons were not her children, that they were merely beasts. She fought back angrily and nearly told him to go away, but then begged him to take her to the dragons. Jorah melted at this; he could never deny Daenerys anything, least of all the things she loved best.

As Kovarro, Daenerys and Jorah walked up to the House of the Undying, Jorah felt a pit of dread in his gut. Beside him, Daenerys steadied herself with shaking breath and steeled herself to enter the tower. As she disappeared around the swirling, circular structure, Jorah felt his heart race with terror. She was gone. Kovarro turned and looked at Jorah confusedly.

"Khaleesi!" Jorah yelled. He heard no reply.

He would hear no reply until Daenerys emerged from the House of the Undying with her beloved dragons, announcing that they had saved her and she them. She seemed strangely two-natured at her emergence – proudly triumphant, but with a twinge of sadness in her voice that Jorah could not place.

He thought little of it for a while. They returned to Xaro Xhoan Daxos' palace and discovered the ultimate betrayal. Doreah was not dead. Far from it. Indeed, she was sleeping (literally) with Xaro Xhoan Daxos, in his comfortable bed.

As the two prevaricators slumbered, and Jorah and Daenerys stood surrounded by several Dothraki warriors, Jorah looked at Daenerys peevishly.

"Lying wench," he mouthed, and Daenerys bit her lip angrily. She petted Drogon with one hand and reached for Jorah's fingers with the other. She brushed them briefly with her fingertips, only for a moment, then brought her hand to her cheek worriedly. She turned to Kovarro and gestured for him to rouse Xaro Xhoan Daxos.

It was sweet revenge for Jorah to lock the fat, double-dealing "king of Qarth" into his own empty vault. Putting Doreah in there wasn't bad, either. The girl had talked to Jorah of loyalty to Daenerys, and look at her, sleeping with the enemy! She pleaded desperately for Daenerys to let her go, but the Khaleesi stood strong. This was no time for mercy.

It felt glorious for Jorah to press Xaro Xhoan Daxos' round key into Dany's palm. As they stalked away from the vault, Daenerys tucked the key into the little purse dangling from her waist. She took her free hand, the one not holding the glowing torch, and reached again for Jorah. This time, she fully grasped his hand, squeezing his fingers gently. Jorah felt his skin prickle with renewed energy, his tiredness gone, as warmth flowed from Dany's skin into his own.

Then it was time to do what the Dothraki did best – plunder and pillage. The irony was that just days before, Daenerys had been scolding her blood riders to leave Xaro Xhoan Daxos' treasures alone. Their "gracious host," she had said, was not to be robbed. Now, every last thing of remote value in his cavernous palace was to be ransacked and stolen.

"Take all the gold and jewels!" Jorah yelled victoriously, tossing a bronze bowl at one of the blood riders.

Daenerys walked back toward him. She had just stepped away.

"I wish you had been in there with me," she said quietly, and for the first time, Jorah noticed that sadness behind her eyes again. He looked at her disconcertedly.

"In the House of the Undying?" he clarified.

"Yes," she answered blankly, looking beyond him.

"I tried, Daenerys. I was following you. You vanished."

"It would have been better to see those things… well, not alone, I suppose."

"What things, Dany?"

Then it was as if Daenerys snapped out of a reverie. She shook herself and gave Jorah a gentle smile. "When do we sail, Ser Jorah?" she asked briskly.

"As soon as you like, my lady," he answered cautiously.

That turned out to be difficult, owing to an assassination attempt on Dany's life by the angry, embittered warlocks of Qarth. They were none too keen on losing Daenerys or her dragons, and would rather see her dead than free. Though Jorah was instrumental in saving Dany's life, it was two mysterious strangers who truly came to the rescue. Arstan Whitebeard and Strong Belwas, two men claiming to be sent by Daenerys' ally Illyrio Mopatis, said they had come to take Daenerys back to Pentos. She looked at Jorah for guidance, and he nodded, so she agreed to accompany them to the Free Cities.

Anything, Jorah thought to himself, to get out of this forsaken city.

As they set sail for Pentos, the harbor of Qarth disappearing into the sunny horizon, Jorah emerged from below decks, his armor finally removed. He wore his yellow linen shirt again, and his sword was not strapped round his waist. He felt like a free man, like the lord he used to be. He poked his head up the top of the stairs and looked around the deck, spotting Daenerys leaning on the rail.

Her silver hair blew gently in the breeze, as did the flowing rose skirts of the gauzy gown she'd donned. Jorah smiled weakly at the sight of her and his breath hitched in his throat. She was strikingly beautiful, though so young, and she mesmerized him. But then he heard the soft sobs from the edge of the deck and noticed that her shoulders were heaving gently.

He nearly rushed to her. He nearly dashed up the steps and almost ran across the deck. He wanted to take her in his arms and crush her against his chest and shush her tenderly. He wanted to kiss the top of her head.

He did none of those things. It did not seem appropriate. She was his queen, and though something was obviously horribly wrong, and he would have liked to consider himself her lover, it was not yet his place to rush to comfort her so insouciantly.

Instead, Jorah sighed sadly, shook his head, and turned back to go below decks again.

He waited in his cabin, sitting on his bed with his elbows resting on his knees and his forehead on his palms, thinking that he would go up again in an hour or so. He would give Daenerys time to weep over whatever it was that was upsetting her, and hopefully she would cry it out soon.

He was not expecting the gentle knock on his door, but he was beginning to grow used to Daenerys showing up at his bedchamber, so he prayed it was her when he called,

"Come in."

It was indeed his potentate, her face streaked with tears, splotched red, her eyes bloodshot and puffy. She stood in the doorway, sniffed softly, and touched her nose with the back of her hand.

Jorah stood quickly.

"What troubles you, Princess?" he asked, though she was a princess no longer and he now considered her his queen. It was what he had called her for many moons, though, and it brought him back to a simpler time… an easier time.

"Jorah," Daenerys whispered, stepping into the cabin and quietly shutting the creaky door behind her. As the ship pitched and rolled, she struggled to keep her balance, and Jorah guided her into the little chair in the corner to sit. He sat back down on the bed and looked at her expectantly. "Tell me," she said, clearing her throat, "how you got over Lynesse."

"Lynesse." Why was she bringing up Lynesse? Eons ago, or so it seemed, for it had been while they were traveling through the Red Waste, Jorah had told Daenerys the lengthy tale of his relationship with his second wife, Lynesse. He had told Dany all about how Lynesse had bankrupted him and caused him grief. Most of all, though, he had told her how he'd loved Lynesse.

"Yes," Daenerys pressed. "How did you get over her?"

"I never got over her."

"You love her still?" Dany asked, her eyebrows raised.

"I love _you_," Jorah insisted, biting his lip.

"Is it not possible to be in love with two people at once?"

Jorah sighed heavily. Was he still in love with Lynesse? He pined for the idyllic times he'd had with Lynesse. He longed for her beauty. He ached for the glorious rush he'd felt winning the tourney with her favor. He furrowed his brow. Would he take Lynesse back if given the chance? Would he choose her over Daenerys?

"No," he answered slowly. "Or, at least, I think one must be more in love with one person than the other."

Dany looked confused. "Then why did I feel the way I felt when I saw Drogo in the House of the Undying?"

Jorah's heart skipped a beat. "What?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.

"I saw my husband. I saw my son. My perfect, beautiful son. Rhaego," Daenerys said dreamily, hugging herself with her thin arms.

"Deception and illusion, Khaleesi," Jorah said warily. "Khal Drogo is gone."

"And aren't you glad of it?" Daenerys asked viciously, her voice suddenly nasty. She looked up at Jorah with a flash of anger in her eyes. "You must have been so very happy to set flame to his funeral pyre."

"Dany…" Jorah said gently, not at all confused or hurt. He stood and walked over to where Daenerys sat and crouched in front of her so that they were at eye level. He placed his hand gingerly on her cheek. "I long only for your joy, whatever that may spell for me."

Dany's look softened and she nodded. "I know you mean that," she said quietly. "I was told that you insisted to Viserys that you would sooner die for me than make me unhappy."

"That is true, Princess. I would die a thousand deaths for you, whether you belong to me or Khal Drogo or anyone else. I am sorry for you that you saw troubling things in the warlocks' lair. I wish nothing for you but contentment and bliss in a long, healthy life. Please, my Queen, if there is anything I can do - "

"Make me forget him."

Jorah tipped his head to the side and shook his head. "You will never forget him, Khaleesi," he told her, using her Dothraki title on purpose. "You will always remember your husband and the son that you have now had the blessing to see. The gods know I would give anything to see my children that died before I had the chance to know them."

"Jorah," Daenerys said insistently, "Give me a reason to think of something else. I have been perseverating on the vision of Khal Drogo, of Rhaego… no, not a vision. It was an interaction, a conversation. It was _real_, and that makes it all the more troubling. I have been obsessed with it since I left the House of the Undying. I must get my mind on something else. It's days until we reach Pentos. Many days. Am I supposed to let my mind rot, eaten away by grief as I sway senselessly on this wretched ship? Bless me, Jorah, I can not. I need comfort; I need succor, relief from my sorrow, and your arms are the safest place I know. So take me now, and kiss me fondly, and tell me you love me. Truly, you are the only living man that does."

"I swear it, Princess, I do. I love you," Jorah said, and he leaned forward to take her little face in his thick, rough hands. He pressed his coarse lips to her silky mouth and she let out a thankful sigh, snaking her fingers through his red-gold hair and squeezing her fingers against his scalp.

The ship began to rock heavily, and Jorah knew they had entered the deep, rough waters of the open sea at last.

Jorah reached his lips toward Daenerys again, slowly, but she pulled him into her quickly and plunged her tongue hard into his mouth. He let out a muffled "mmph" of surprise but kissed her back.

Daenerys was panting when she pulled away. "I had meant for you to take me slowly. Gently. Properly," she whispered into the creaking of the rocking cabin, "But now I think I should like you to fuck the misery out of me."

She looked at Jorah seriously, and he furrowed his brow back at her. "It doesn't work like that," he said. "I would know. Don't you think I sought solace in the arms of women after Lynesse? Only love will help overcome the melancholy you feel. Love, Daenerys. Not fucking. It's like alcohol; it will only mask your sorrow until the effects of the medicine wear off. Then it's worse."

"Don't you love me, though?" Dany asked sadly, desperately. "_I_ love _you_."

"Of course. I love you so badly it hurts, Dany. I mean, it physically hurts. I don't want to take advantage of your grief." Jorah shook his head and looked away shamefully. He stood and returned to the bed, sitting slowly.

Daenerys quickly rose and followed him, standing before him and tipping his chin up to her.

"How about this, then?" she proposed seriously. "As your sovereign, I command you to fuck me. Hard. Fast. And for a long, long time. How does that sound?"

"It sounds a bit nonconsensual, Your Grace," Jorah raised his eyebrows at her. "Besides, I thought you had your moon's blood."

"I did. Not anymore."

"Oh," Jorah said simply.

"You don't want me."

"Clearly I want you," he insisted, sighing heavily. He gestured to his crotch, where a bulge had formed because of all her insistence and teasing. "But you're not in a state - "

"If it is true that you want me, then I command you to take me right this instant." Daenerys stomped her foot childishly on the floor of the cabin and clenched her little hands into fists at her side. She pouted irritably at Jorah.

Jorah was silent for a moment as he pondered his next move. "As you wish, Khaleesi," he finally said, calmly. His next actions were a blur. He jumped up to his feet, grabbed Daenerys around the back of her knees and behind her shoulders, and whirled around. He dropped her unceremoniously down on the bed, where she landed with an "oof!" and a gentle bounce.

Jorah set to disrobing Daenerys, quickly untying the halter around the back of her neck and yanking the dress down the length of her body. He snatched off her filmy smallclothes and grunted gratefully when she lay nude and exposed on the lumpy mattress. Jorah then hurriedly undressed himself, peeling and whipping his yellow shirt off and across the cabin, shucking his wide trousers and breeches, and kicking off his tall leather boots. He hastily climbed onto the bed and perched himself atop Daenerys.

She wanted him hard and fast, then? Well, he was more than happy to oblige. He'd been frustrated for a few days now, and incredibly jealous to hear that Daenerys had encountered the deceased Drogo in the House of the Undying. Maybe he _could_ fuck the angst out of her. He could certainly try.

Jorah didn't have time for foreplay. He was already hard. Besides, tender kissing and caressing would spoil the unthinking, automatic, and energetic atmosphere of the encounter. Wasn't that what Daenerys wanted? Pleasure without very much thought? Daenerys wanted to think only of how good she felt, only of the overwhelming sensations in her body. Too much emotion, it seemed, would blemish that impulsivity.

So, Jorah spat on his hand and pawed Dany's entrance to wet it. He shoved her legs open, grasped her hips, and guided his throbbing member into her. He leaned forward and instantaneously began pistoning vigorously.

Daenerys squeezed her eyes shut for a moment against Jorah's jaggedness and clutched at her face. She moaned, a sound that made Jorah momentarily concerned, as she sounded somewhat wounded, but then her cries of, "Yes, Jorah, yes!" spurred him onward.

"Mmm… harder!" she uttered, reaching down to toy with herself as he plunged madly into her. Jorah grinned. She forgot that he was not a young man. He did not have the physical stamina he'd once had, and though he was screwing her as roughly as he could, she still wanted more.

He pushed himself, grasping her hips tightly and thrusting rapidly and deeply into her. In the process, she began inching backward, toward the edge of the bed, until her head, arms, and shoulders were over the edge. Daenerys arched her back steeply and let her head and arms dangle while Jorah pumped. Her silver hair pooled on the wooden cabin floor. After a moment, though, she said raggedly,

"I'm going to pass out, Jorah."

Jorah immediately stopped his thrusting and pulled Daenerys back up onto the bed. He positioned her on her side and got behind her, spooning with her tightly. She pushed her backside toward him as he entered her, and she reached back to place her hand on his own rear, pulling him into her. She then took his hand and guided it to her private parts, her fingers showing him exactly what to do. As Jorah caught his breath and slowly thrust into Daenerys over and again, he alternated his hand between her round, soft little breasts and her silky folds below. Once or twice he steeled himself against climax, overwhelmed by the friction of her tight entrance and the delightfully feminine parts of her body that he was touching. Through careful breathing, clenched eyes, and determined thought, he pressed on.

After a few moments of his strokes and caresses, Dany's moans grew steadily louder. Her back arched hard, pushing her rear end even harder against Jorah. She laced her fingers through his, her hand trembling fiercely. Then Jorah felt her muscles clenching rhythmically around him, and he gasped against the sensation.

That was enough for him. He knew he wouldn't last very much longer at all, and she'd now had her gratification. However, Jorah had known Daenerys to surrender to pleasure more than once in the same encounter.

He knew he could finish in her. He knew, loosely at least, how women's cycles allowed for pregnancy. He had, after all, managed to put three children into his first wife and none into Lynesse. Daenerys was only a day removed from her moon's blood, so pregnancy was not likely at all. Jorah was not afraid to find his liberation in her.

He sat upright on the bed and pulled the quaking, shuddering Daenerys onto him. Jorah extended his legs in front of him. Daenerys crawled up to him on her knees and straddled him, lowering herself onto his erect member. She then arched into a back bend and rested her head between his legs on the bed. She reached her hands back to grab hold of Jorah's ankles. Jorah put his hands behind Dany's back to support her and leaned forward. She began pushing herself off of his ankles, horizontally thrusting against him.

The complicated position only lasted a few moments before Jorah let out a loud cry of release. He pulled one hand up from the small of Dany's back to between her shoulders and clutched her flush against his torso, breathing hard. He kissed her sweaty forehead and whispered her name over and again.

When at last they lay tucked together in the bed, Jorah in his breeches and Daenerys in her smallclothes, she sighed somewhat contentedly against his skin.

"I think," she said, "I can finally fall asleep. And I think I shall dream of you – instead of him."

"If you dream of him, it is because he is visiting you from the Night Lands," Jorah said gently, kissing the top of Dany's head. "He loved you, and that is quite something for a Khal."

"Will you sing me a song from Westeros?" Daenerys asked Jorah, her voice suddenly childlike.

"I can not sing, Khaleesi," Jorah insisted. "My singing would only function to make you cry again."

She chuckled at that. "Someday I will make you sing for me. But I am done ordering you around for today."

"Well, thank you for that," he said gratefully, "Though I am ever at your service."

"Then take me once more, Jorah," Daenerys begged, kissing his neck delicately.

He _was_ ready for her again, so he made love to her, gently this time. She lay on her stomach with the clumpy pillow under her hips as Jorah entered her from behind, lying flush against her. He came quickly, and so did she, and then Jorah was so exhausted that he swiftly fell asleep on the sagging, thin mattress, now devoid of his breeches.

He awoke later, not sure how long he'd been slumbering or what time it was, to find that Daenerys was gone from the room. No trace that she'd been there remained save for her sweet fragrance.

Jorah emerged above decks, desperate for some fresh air, to find that the ship had sailed into a thick fog and that it was drizzling. Dany sat up in the bow of the ship, huddled against the railing with a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders. For some reason, she looked like she needed space, and she had left Jorah in his cabin, so he decided to let her be. He walked up on deck and strode quietly to the stern of the ship, walking carefully up the steps to the next level of decking and gazing out to the gray water below. He felt his hair getting wet and his yellow shirt begin sticking to his skin, and realized he could not remember the last time he felt rain on his flesh.

He nearly jumped at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Turning quickly, Jorah saw Daenerys looking hopefully into his eyes, her blonde hair hanging in sodden strings before her face. She clutched the blanket round her thin shoulders and smiled gently at Jorah. She placed a hand on his left cheek and leaned up to kiss the right. Jorah looked around anxiously; had anyone seen? No. They were alone.

"Arstan Whitebeard told me of Balerion and Rhaegar. He says Rhaegar was an amazing warrior, but won no battles."

"Arstan is more than he seems," Jorah said. "Beware of him."

"You, too, are more than you seem," Daenerys said. "Should I trust you or not, Jorah Mormont of Bear Island? The man who was a lord, had a wife and lost her, and is now reduced to serving the exile queen as she sails for the Free Cities?"

"I am not reduced at all by serving you, Daenerys," Jorah insisted with a smile. "Indeed, I am far more elevated in status now than ever I was as a lord on Bear Island."

"Take me there someday," Daenerys requested, "to Bear Island. When we get back to Westeros, once I've taken my throne… take me to Bear Island and show me your great wooden hall. Show me your mossy forests, your crashing icy waves. Show me your countless wooly bears and your craggy cliffs."

"You make it sound like paradise, Khaleesi, and yet you've never been."

"I can only imagine that a place that produced a man like you must be where the gods live," she said.

"I had a dream once," Jorah said quietly, staring off into the fog, "that you were tossing pebbles into the waves on Bear Island, walking beside me, wearing a gorgeous velvet Westerosi gown. You were happy, and we were together, and our lives were simple. You weren't like Lynesse, for in my dream we had but a warm hearth and humble food, and yet you were happy. But I know you, my queen. You were happy in the khalasar. You could be happy anywhere."

"But, as queen, I will have to live in King's Landing," Daenerys said softly, bringing Jorah back to reality.

"Yes," Jorah nodded. "I hope you will be happy there, too."

"But you will be with me, won't you?" she asked anxiously. "You'll visit Bear Island, but you'll live with me in King's Landing, won't you?"

Jorah smiled gently, placing his palm on Dany's cheek before sighing and looking away again. "Of course, Dany. Where you are, there I will stay."

"What would you have me do now? When we get to Pentos?" Daenerys asked, and Jorah suddenly remembered that he was not her husband. He was her advisor.

Jorah cleared his throat.

"I would have us change course," he said, "and sail for Astapor."

"Why?"

"To obtain an army of the Unsullied," he answered simply.

"The what?"

"Eunuchs trained to fight. The Three Thousand of Qohor were a small army of Unsullied who defeated a khalasar of fifty thousand Dothraki. They are fierce fighters, my Queen. They would serve you well."

"How shall I obtain them?" Daenerys asked.

Jorah hesitated. "Buy them," he answered cautiously.

"_Slaves_, Jorah?" Daenerys said with disbelief. "That was your greatest sin, your greatest regret, was it not? And now you ask me to do the same?"

"Buy them, then free them, for all I care. They will serve you nonetheless. I do believe they are at their core the best fighters for you."

"Jorah, you are the one who told me that using an army I bought was foolish," Daenerys reminded him.

"Dany," Jorah said to her as if she was stupid, "I was trying to stop you from marrying Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Besides, I see no other way for us to successfully reach Westeros. This is the plan I recommend. Please feel free to disregard or follow my advice."

"And how will I reach Pentos? Reach Magister Illyrio?"

"Continue on to Pentos overland," Jorah suggested. "There will be dangers, surely, but none greater than the dangers on the sea."

"What if Captain Groleo refuses to change course, though? And Arstan, Strong Belwas, what will they do?"

"Perhaps it's time you found that out," Jorah suggested.

"Yes," Daenerys decided. "I'll do it! I'll see the captain at once, command him to set course for Astapor."

Without thinking, Jorah slid his arms around her.

"Oh," Daenerys said meekly. Jorah held her with one hand on her shoulder and the other sliding down to the small of her back. Dany's mouth opened and allowed his tongue in. He kissed her for a long while. Though Jorah released her after many moments, Daenerys did not step back. She wrapped her arms around his chest and pressed her cheek to his sternum.

"I should have kissed you in Vaes Tolorru. I should have kissed you in the Red Waste, every night and every day. You were made to be kissed, often and well. My Queen… the bravest, sweetest, and most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon's wives as well as his sisters. You have no brothers, but you can take husbands. And I tell you truly, Daenerys, there is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me."  
Jorah finished his spiel with a shaking voice, licking his bottom lip and looking resolutely at the railing of the ship.

"I know it," Daenerys said quietly, "and there is no man I would rather have by my side. When I can, Jorah, I will make you Lord again. I will restore your honor. Then I will make you my consort. My husband."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Please do take the time to review the story and let me know what you think! I am VERY open to feedback and ideas/suggestions. Thank you so much to those who have read the story so far. I hope you are enjoying reading it half as much as I am enjoying writing it! Reviews are extremely appreciated.**

It was storming again. The _Balerion_ was nearly to Astapor, just three days' calm sail out, Captain Groleo had told Daenerys the night before. The Dothraki were growing incredibly restless on the ship, having spent nearly the entire voyage fearfully below decks with the horses, who were also beginning to suffer.

Jorah awoke in the middle of the night to the intense creaking of the ship as it pitched to and fro in the mad tilt of the storm's opening waves. He heard wailing from the open decks as the Dothraki prayed and cried out in dread. Jorah extinguished his lantern, fearing that the flame would spread if the glass tipped and broke, and waited in the dark for morning. Somehow, he managed to fall back asleep despite the wild rocking of the ship.

He awoke again to a weight on him and warmth on his cheek, and he startled, grabbing for the sword at his side. He heard a soft giggle and felt a hand on his own.

"Khaleesi." His voice was thick with sleep. His eyes remained shut, but he knew it was she. Who else would sneak into his cabin in the midst of a storm and -"Jhiqui?"

Jorah's eyes darted open and he sat bolt upright, dislodging the Dothraki girl and sending her flying off the bed and landing hard on the floor. Being a knight, Jorah helped her stand, but kept her off the bed. He stared at her in disbelief through the dim room.

"What are you doing in my cabin?" he asked roughly. "On… top of me?"

"I frightened of storm," Jhiqui answered simply, shrugging. "Khaleesi grow tired of me crying of it. She tell me, 'Go cry with other Dothraki below decks.' I think, 'Ser Jorah… he kind man. I show him kindness, he show me kindness.' Can I be kind to Ser Jorah?" Jhiqui tugged at her vest to reveal part of her breast and looked at Jorah sensually. Jorah looked back with what could only be described as disgust.

"No," he said harshly, putting up a hand and looking away. He spoke to the girl in fluid Dothraki then. "Jhiqui, my heart belongs to another. I'm sorry. You can not be alone with me in here. Please, if you can not go back to the Khaleesi's cabin, then go with the rest of the Dothraki… I must - "

"Your heart belongs to the Khaleesi," Jhiqui said unassumingly in Dothraki. "I understand. She is lucky. You should go to her, Ser Jorah." She looked guiltily at him for a moment, then turned for the door.

Jorah narrowed his eyes. He reached out for Jhiqui's elbow and turned the girl around.

"Why are you really here, Jhiqui?" he asked.

Jhiqui sighed umbrageously and rolled her eyes. "Khaleesi send me," she admitted in the Common Tongue. "She want to see if you sleep with me or not. She test your loyalty. Your honor."

Jorah looked hurt for a minute, and felt a pit in his stomach, then rose angrily.

"Go join your fellow horsemen in the hold," he said austerely to Jhiqui in her own language. "I'll speak to her alone."

Jhiqui lowered her eyes and nodded, scooting quickly out the door of Jorah's cabin and mumbling a regret as best she could in the Common Tongue, as there really was no way to properly apologize in Dothraki.

Jorah slid on his boots and his yellow linen shirt and lit a lantern to carry. He marched angrily down the narrow passageway of the ship until he reached the largest cabin on board. Normally, it would be reserved for the ship's captain, but there was royalty aboard, so Captain Groleo was sleeping in a small chamber like Jorah's, and Daenerys had the larger cabin to herself. Jorah pondered this bitterly as he contemplated how to handle the situation.

He mused over flinging the door open without knocking. He would scream and rage at the Khaleesi so everyone could hear, waking all aboard from any sleep they managed in this tempest. He would chastise her for her distrust, her foolishness. He would make her look irrational and as cracked as her father had been.

But then, she'd likely have his head for it. At the very least, he'd never, ever touch her again, he thought. No, there had to be a better way to handle his anger. Shouldn't he be the mature one between them, anyway? He had the years, the experience, to be far more mellow and developed than she was. He had to treat her silliness with care; she was little more than a girl and likely thought little before acting. She would have to learn, though, to think more thoroughly if she was to be queen. It was his duty as his advisor to use this situation as a teachable moment.

So, rather than hurling the door open and letting his wrath loose on Daenerys, Jorah chose to knock gently.

"Come," he heard her voice say. She sounded fretful.

Jorah gingerly eased the door open, nearly losing his balance as the storm pitched the ship wildly. Lightning illuminated Dany's chamber as thunder simultaneously snapped.

"Jorah?" Daenerys looked mildly surprised to see him, though Jorah could not imagine why. Perhaps she was a good actress.

Jorah shut the door behind him, none too quietly. He hung the lantern on a hook, bathing the cabin in a dim, warm glow. He saw the three dragons scattered around the room, agitatedly pacing about in the squall's rolling motion. Dany looked at him from her bed, where she lay all alone. The sheet and coverlet were tucked neatly under her arms and around her chest, as if she were awaiting a caller, and it was obvious that she wore nothing.

"What disturbs your sleep, besides the storm?" Daenerys asked, a twinge of nervousness in her voice. Jorah pursed his lips, irritated. She was egging him on.

"I think," he said calmly, "that at the next opportunity, you ought to force that horrid girl of yours, Jhiqui, to jump right over the edge of the ship and drown herself."

Daenerys sat up, clutching the coverlet around herself modestly. That peeved Jorah even more. As though he had never seen her body! As if there were anyone else in the room!

"Why?" Dany asked innocently.

"Why?" Jorah repeated, scoffing. "Because I awoke to find the little slut atop me, attempting to goad me into lascivious behavior that would not only betray you, but my own honor. Surely such traitorous conduct ought not to go unpunished?"

"And… she didn't tell you…?" Daenerys asked meekly, her voice almost inaudible over the loud creaking of the ship's wood.

"Didn't tell me what?" Jorah asked through his teeth. It was all he could do to keep from yelling. He sighed.

"That I sent her to you," Daenerys finished feebly, looking at Drogon distractedly.

"Oh…" Jorah said in a revelatory voice, raising his eyebrows. "That was no ruse, then? That was not a miserable excuse to try to save her sorry little soul? I thought there was no way in the seven hells that that could possibly be true, Daenerys." His voice was rather mocking now, and he knew he was pushing his luck, edging on the boundary of insolence.

She did not scold him for his cheekiness, though. Instead, she sniffled gently and stroked Viserion's scales.

"I…" she began, but Jorah cut her off rather rudely.

"Did not trust me," he finished curtly. "Did not think that I was true to you. Needed proof. Needed testimony of my fidelity. Well, Daenerys, here I stand. Yours."

He opened his arms wide as if to bare his soul and body to her and shrugged helplessly. He shook his head in incredulity of the situation and sighed again. Daenerys looked like she was going to cry, and Jorah knew it was out of shame. He had never seen or known her to feel shame before. Sadness, grief, confusion, frustration, anger… all of those negative emotions and more he had witnessed in his queen. However, shame? Embarrassment? Never.

That was what he saw now, though, clear as day, etched on her face in her shining lavender eyes, brimmed with tears. Her furrowed brows betrayed her discomfiture, and her trembling lip made her look even younger than her girlish physique made her seem. Despite his resentment, his annoyance, Jorah felt pity for her. She had not known the consequences of her actions. She had only sought reassurance from her handmaid.

Perhaps, Jorah thought, this act of hers only showed that she truly loved him, and wanted to know thoroughly and without doubt that he loved her and her alone in return. Well, if it was a guarantee she wanted… she was his queen, and what she wanted, she would receive.

Jorah strode across the cabin and sat on the bed facing Daenerys. It creaked under his weight, matching the screeching of the ship's structure.

"What did you think I would do to her?" he asked Dany quietly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His voice was grave and low, solemn and suppliant. "Did you think I would touch her, when I only want to touch you?" Jorah let his hand trail down Dany's cheek and neck and brushed his fingertips over her exposed décolleté. "Did you think I would kiss her, when I only want to kiss you?" He scooted himself forward, closer to Daenerys on the bed, and planted a light peck on her lips. Then he placed his hand flat against her uncovered back, warm to the touch, and pulled her near to him. He put his other hand behind her head and edged her ear toward his lips. He whispered, so quietly he wondered if she heard, "Did you think I would want her, Dany? When I only want you?"

Daenerys shivered then, though the room was hot and stuffy, and Jorah knew she had received him. He let her go and stood abruptly.

"You would make me your husband," he reminded her, though it came out rather like a question.

"I would. I would still, if you would have me," Daenerys told him, and Jorah was shocked by the submissiveness in her voice. Had she forgotten herself? She was his monarch. Besides, Jorah loved her. Of course he would have her.

He just nodded, though, and turned to go from the room. He found the solution to be rectified.

"Where are you going?" Dany's voice came from behind him, sounding surprised at his sudden departure.

Jorah looked over his shoulder. "Is there a reason for me to stay?" he asked.

"Yes."

He turned his back to the door and looked plaintively at Daenerys. His mind still seethed somewhat with frustration, and he was still deeply offended at the lack of trust she'd demonstrated.

"I… should like you to stay until the storm has passed," Daenerys said, sounding officious and fussy. She positioned her head haughtily.

Jorah put his lips in a flat line skeptically. "Since when has any tempest caused any level of discomfort to Daenerys Stormborn? I should think you happier in a squall than in the calmest of seas, Khaleesi."

"Then stay and share in my happiness."

"As my queen commands." Jorah pursed his lips dubiously as he managed his way to the little chair in the corner of the cabin, fighting hard to walk despite the incredible pitch and roll of the ship in the storm.

Daenerys lay back down on the mattress and turned on her side to face Jorah.

"You know," she said, "the reason I sent her is that I dreamed of you with Lynesse."

Jorah did not know what to say. Besides the fact that Daenerys did not know what Lynesse looked like, there was the matter of such a dream not being an absurd unreality. Jorah _had_ been with Lynesse, many times – many more times over than he'd been with Dany. Daenerys was only imagining the truth, trying to put a vision, faces, images, to a story.

"I… being with you is nothing I have ever experienced before," Jorah settled on saying, deciding not to mention anyone else by name. He looked down at his hands, which he laced anxiously.

"What's something you _never_ did with her, Jorah? Something you've always wanted to do?"

"Physically?" Jorah processed, clearing his throat self-consciously. This conversation had gone from unpleasant to awkward rather quickly.

"Precisely."

"Well," Jorah felt his cheeks redden, "she never took me in her mouth, as you did. So, if you were seeking to be innovative… consider that accomplished."

"Something else," Daenerys goaded. She pushed herself up onto one elbow and propped her chin on her hand, looking at Jorah playfully. "Something… naughty."

"Naughty?" Jorah repeated, laughing out loud. He was nearly three times Dany's age; wasn't it inherently 'naughty' for him to touch her in the first place? "Well," he said, acutely uncomfortable talking about his sex life with another woman, "it was always rather plain. Me on top; me on the bottom." He kept avoiding saying the word 'she,' or, worse yet, Lynesse's name. "With you it's very exciting," he asserted, bringing it back to Daenerys.

"My sun-and-stars was the same way," Daenerys said plainly, her voice candid and dull, "and he never stayed with me afterward. He rarely cared if I enjoyed it. He wanted it every night, though I was always so tired. It was the least pleasant part of our marriage."

She looked as though she would cry again, and for a moment Jorah thought that indeed she was weeping, for he saw her fingertips swipe under her eye. But then she cleared her throat firmly and shook her head as if to rid herself of some horrid thought.

Jorah furrowed his brow and rose to crouch before the bed. "I promise you, Dany, that I care very, very much whether you enjoy it. The moment you enjoy it no longer… never again will I touch you."

"That day will not come," Daenerys told him, reaching out to place her palm on his cheek, as she was wont to do. Jorah shut his eyes against the feeling of her warm little hand on his face. When he opened his eyes again, the sheet and coverlet had fallen – or perhaps Dany had inched them down – to reveal her breasts to him, and he licked his bottom lip.

Daenerys silently reached out to the hem of Jorah's shirt and tugged it skyward, urging it up and over his head. Jorah mutely fumbled with the constraints at his waist and used one foot to peel the boot off the other. Soon, without a word or sound exchanged between them, Jorah was as bare as Daenerys. She peeled back the sheet and coverlet, but whether she was uncovering herself or inviting him in, Jorah did not know. He climbed on the mattress and sat so that his legs extended horizontally toward the foot of the bed.

He would guide her now, teach her diverse ways of making love as he had been doing the last few times they'd coupled. It had been interesting with her, exciting, as he'd told her. He hadn't simply mounted her, or let her ride him, except for the very first time. Each time had been noteworthy and stimulating. This time would be no different.

Jorah took Daenerys around the waist and rotated her, urging her to straddle him with her back toward him. He gradually lowered her onto his rigid member, groaning quietly in response to her soft whimpers as he slid into her. Jorah pulled Dany's legs back so that they were almost behind him and pushed her torso forward, gently encouraging her to relax. Still, they had not spoken.

Daenerys was now lying almost flat on her stomach, grasping Jorah's calves, with him inside of her and him sitting up. He held her waist and urged her to slide back and forth using his legs for leverage. She did, and he sat back to enjoy the amazing view of her backside.

Then, he did something he could not have ever imagined himself doing. He spanked her. Jorah spanked his Khaleesi, his queen.

He did it gently, just a little tap, but the impassioned, "Ugh! Again, Jorah!" that escaped her lips after he did it made his cheeks grow hot – not with shame, but with desire. He did it again; he spanked her a little harder than before.

"Again! More!" she cried, and Jorah smacked her skin with a delightful _crack_ that rang through the cabin. He did it again and again until her movements had grown so quick and frantic that he thought she'd lost control of herself, and the skin on her rear end was scalding hot and glowing red.

Jorah finally stopped to rub her skin soothingly, tenderly, taking her backside in both hands and squeezing gently as she drove herself horizontally on him. He squeezed harder when she quivered and contracted around him in her climax. At last, the stimulation was too much to bear, and Jorah felt himself nearing his summit. As his zenith drew inevitably near, Jorah slipped out of Daenerys, laying her hips on the sheets between his legs. He gritted his teeth and panted as his head spun and his ears rang, and he spilled his seed all over the smooth flesh of her bum. The sight of it spattered on her chalky skin made him shiver despite the heat, and he scrambled for something to clean it up.

Daenerys patiently waited, lying still and serene on her stomach on the sheets.

"Well," she said softly, yawning into the dim light and chuckling, "that _was_ naughty, Jorah."

Days later, Jorah waited on the _Balerion_, guarding Dany's men and dragons, while she met with slavers in Astapor. He was anxious. Would she acquire the Unsullied successfully? Would someone take advantage of her? He wanted to be there with her. He was disappointed that he'd been left on the ship, though Daenerys had asserted that it was because she trusted him with her most precious things.

When at last she returned to the _Balerion_, Jorah's heart sank to see her. She looked enraged. Why, Jorah asked himself, couldn't they just be happy for awhile? Then he reminded himself that they were engaged in a great struggle for her throne, and that their happiness was like to take its sweet time in coming.

"Your Grace," Jorah said to her, bowing in front of the others on board the ship. "We've been inspected by slavers to see just what we've got – which isn't much, I must say. What did you find in Astapor?"

"I must say it wasn't much, either, Ser Jorah," Daenerys said angrily, putting her hands on her hips and spitting out the two words of his name. "Your tales of valiant slave men turned out to be naught but eunuchs with empty souls. Eight thousand of them – and I want none. Thank you _so_ much for bringing us here. Arstan Whitebeard is right. Sellswords are the answer."

She stormed off, across the deck. Whitebeard, Groleo, her blood riders, and Jhiqui were all moving about the deck, ignoring (or pretending to ignore) the spat.

Jorah followed Daenerys across the wooden planking of the deck, his boots thumping on the beams.

"If we can not afford to buy slaves, Daenerys –"

"_Your Grace!_" She whirled on him, her violet eyes flashing.

"Daenerys," Jorah said again, louder. He swallowed hard. "If we can hardly afford to buy slaves, how on earth do you propose we purchase the services of enough sellswords to win you the Iron Throne?"

Daenerys looked like a trapped rat backed into a corner. Her mouth dropped open, shocked at Jorah's insolence. Her eyes widened and burned with horror and rage.

Now, Jhiqui and Groleo and even Arstan Whitebeard had stopped what they were doing and turned to watch. They had been attracted by Jorah's raised voice, and they had heard him call her by her given name after she'd insisted on her title. Daenerys did the only thing she could do as a sovereign who'd just been blatantly disrespected in front of her subjects. She slapped Jorah as hard as she could.

Jorah's fingers brushed over the skin she'd clouted, as if in disbelief, pausing at his chin and falling limply to the hilt of his sword.

Daenerys jiggled her hand, then gripped it in the other, for she'd hit him so hard her palm smarted.

"You brought me to this appalling place," she yelled then, "This dreadful, stinking city. You urge me to buy slaves, the very crime for which you were exiled from the Seven Kingdoms. Then you show me no respect as your queen. You openly defy me. You are no more a man than the disgusting eunuchs I saw today."

She shoved past Jorah and hurried below decks, and he turned slowly to face the observers eyeing him curiously. He cleared his throat awkwardly, ashamed, his cheek glowing with heat and pain. He contemplated following her below decks, but that would be more insubordination, for it was clear she wanted nothing to do with him right now. So, he had no choice but to walk slowly over to the railing of the ship and stand silently, alone, waiting for something to happen.

He stared at the docks, watching ships being loaded with cargo, until a body stepped up next to him and Jorah looked up to see Whitebeard beside him – precisely the last person he desired to see at this moment.

"Good evening," Jorah said glumly, not meaning it at all.

"Lord Mormont," Whitebeard said quietly. "I think she is ready to see you."

"Oh?" Jorah asked derisively, turning to face the old man. He tipped his head to the side and pursed his lips. "What makes you say that? Do you know her so well, squire? Do you know _us_? Please, old man, do not speak to me of things about which you have exactly no idea whatsoever."

"I have just come from her cabin," Whitebeard said, his voice calm and discreet. For some reason, that pronouncement did not soothe Jorah, but made him seethe with jealousy. There had been another man in Dany's room. Someone else, sitting in that space where just days before he had passionately made love to her.

"She is upset about many things," Whitebeard continued. "What she saw today with the Unsullied. How she was treated by the slavers. Most of all, though, Mormont… how she was treated by you. She does not wish to be angry with you. She only wants comfort."

Jorah sighed. "I would comfort her," he said.

"And she would have you do it," Whitebeard nodded. "Go to her. Now. Before the fickle girl's mind changes."

Jorah half-smiled at that, his bitter enmity with the old man momentarily forgotten. He pushed himself away from the railing and backed away from the edge of the ship, turning to rush down the stairs heading below decks. His boots clattered on the steps, and he dashed down the hallway to Dany's room.

In his mind, he saw himself flinging the door open without knocking. Instead of doing it in rage as he had the last time he'd envisioned himself doing it, though, this time he would do it ardently. He would march into the room, sweep Daenerys off her feet, hike her dress up, slam her against the wall of the cabin and pound the living daylights out of her.

Instead, he did exactly what he'd done the last time he showed up at Dany's cabin door. He knocked politely and cleared his throat nervously, waiting for permission to enter. This time, he was terrified.

Jorah heard soft crying coming from behind the door, and it abruptly stopped when he knocked.

"C-come in," Daenerys stammered, and Jorah could tell she was trying to sound strong. She tried to make it sound like an order rather than an invitation.

Jorah slowly opened the door and stepped inside, his eyes lowered and not looking at Daenerys. He shut the door behind him, still averting his gaze, and dropped to one knee. Genuflecting in a humble obeisance, he murmured,

"Your Grace."

"You call me that _here_, of all places?" Daenerys nearly spat, and Jorah slightly raised his eyes to see her standing before him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Don't mock me now, Jorah."

"I do not mock you, Khaleesi," Jorah declared, lowering his gaze again. "I came to apologize most sincerely… for bringing you here when it does not please you, for giving you advice that does not make you happy, for being impertinent. I have failed you. Please forgive me."

Above him, Daenerys sighed exasperatedly. "Of course I forgive you, Jorah. You embarrassed me, and I won't have it again, do you understand?"

He nodded silently.

"Now what do I do?" she asked him plaintively. She began to pace and said distractedly, "Up. Up off the floor, Jorah. Help me. Tell me what to do."

Jorah rose and let his eyes look upon Daenerys. He cleared his throat again and rubbed his hands together.

"You will have to spill blood in your quest for the throne," he said. "Your gentle heart will be compromised. I have witnessed far worse atrocities than any committed by the Unsullied. They do not rape or plunder. They do not do anything like what you have seen your own Dothraki do. And they'll only do what you tell them to do. But you'll have to order some rather gruesome acts, my queen."

"My own Dothraki," Daenerys repeated, pausing in her manic pacing. She stared at the wall. "Why have my Dothraki not sacked Astapor? It is weak."

Jorah chuckled. "Spoken like a Khal."

"Tell me why."

"There is no one to sack the city, Your Grace. There are no true enemies of Astapor, and passing khalasars face gifts rather than battles." He looked around the room and saw the dragons moseying casually about, not picking up on Dany's tension.

"My brother would have gladly bought every slave he could afford and ordered them to fight for him," Daenerys said quietly. "But you have told me I remind you more of Rhaegar than of Viserys. Rhaegar fought with free men."

"And Rhaegar perished. He lost on the Trident. I would not see you do the same, Your Grace." Jorah longed to call her by her name, but he did not dare.

She looked at him, resigned, and sighed.

"I will buy the Unsullied tomorrow," she told him, "and you will come with me to do it."

Jorah nodded enthusiastically. "With pleasure, Your Grace."

"Why, Jorah?" she asked after she'd been quiet a moment. "Why did you mortify me in front of a deck full of my vassals?"

"I was not thinking."

"No," she agreed, "but for the sake of all the gods, know place and time. Out there, I am your queen. In here, in this cabin…" She stepped up in front of him and put her hands on his chest, looking up into his eyes sadly. "You are my bear."

"Dany," Jorah said cautiously, and it came out rather like a question. She nodded reassuringly at him. "Please, _please_ let me love you."

She started crying again then, silently, with tears streaming uncontrollably out of her lilac eyes and coursing down her alabaster cheeks. He brushed them away with his rough fingers and leaned down to kiss her soft forehead.

Jorah guided Daenerys slowly to the bed, and he made love to her more gently than he ever had. They fell asleep together on the lumpy mattress, tucked under the coverlet, and for once, neither left until morning.


	7. Chapter 7

Dawn crept over the stone buildings of Astapor as Daenerys stood perched on a balcony above a plaza, addressing her meager_ khalasar_. Several dozen of her Unsullied stood guard at the entrances to the plaza, keeping prying eyes and ears away.

Jorah stood behind and to the side of Daenerys, clad in mail and plate and his green Mormont surcoat. He had bathed the night before, and had his hair cut and his face shaved. His sword, which hung securely at his side, had been sharpened. For the first time in a long while, Ser Jorah looked and felt like a knight.

Daenerys, for her part, looked all Dothraki. She was trying to do so, for her people, for today she was a proud Khaleesi. She wore a painted vest over her bare chest, horsehair leggings that looked like they itched and scratched, and little bells in her long braid. She, too, though, was clean and groomed.

The Dothraki throng waited silently and patiently for Dany's words. They looked expectantly at her – such as they were, old warriors and pregnant women and young children in their few dozens.

"My people," Dany's voice rang out in the Dothraki tongue, "I come before you this morning as your queen and Khaleesi. Together we have sacked Astapor. Together we have made this city free."

The people cheered in approval.

"I know," Daenerys continued, her voice growing serious, "that after the death of my husband Khal Drogo – may he ride forever in the Night Lands – I know that many of my Dothraki brethren would see me go to Vaes Dothrak and live forever among the Dosh khaleen."

"No! Never, Khaleesi!" The_ khalasar_ sang out its opposition to the notion.

"Now, I respect tradition," Daenerys informed them, putting up her hand to silence the people, "I honor it. But I am no crone. I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of my Name. I am the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons. I am not only your Khaleesi; I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. And I will rule my people with a husband by my side."

A hush swept over the_ khalasar_ then, as they processed what Daenerys had just said. None dared speak a word.

"He will not be your Khal," Daenerys reassured them, "for I am your only Khaleesi. He will not be your King, for I am your only Queen. He will, then, be my consort." She said the final word in the Common Tongue, for there was no such word in Dothraki. "He will be my husband, my advisor, my friend. You all know this man well. He is no stranger to you. You trust him, and rightly so." Daenerys turned and smiled gently at Jorah. "He is Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island!" she cried triumphantly.

At that, the people let out a mighty roar of a cheer, and began chanting, "Jo-rah! Jo-rah! Jo-rah!"

"Should I wave?" Jorah asked Daenerys out the side of his mouth, grinning a rare grin at the Dothraki people.

"Yes. Give them a little gesture," she said back to him, and she was smiling widely, too.

So he did, timidly putting his hand up and shaking it a bit.

There was to be a Dothraki-style wedding feast, held in the plaza. It would pale in comparison to Dany's first wedding, which had featured thousands of guests. It was often said that a Dothraki wedding without three deaths was considered dull, but Daenerys had ordered that no one was to die at her wedding to Jorah. This was not because Daenerys balked at death or because she did not agree with Dothraki tradition. It was simple logistics; they did not have three people to spare on superfluous deaths.

"And will you take me in front of all of them, right there in the plaza?" Daenerys asked Jorah playfully the night before the wedding.

"I will not," Jorah replied rather forcefully. "That act is for us and us alone to witness."

"You must give the people what they want," Daenerys insisted coyly.

Jorah shook his head. "It's enough that this wedding is taking place at all."

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "What is that supposed to mean? It _was _your idea. Need I remind you?"

Jorah sighed and took a sip of wine from the silver chalice he was holding. "Arstan Whitebeard is an old fool. But he said something to me today that is right, if not pleasant."

"And what's that?" Dany asked cautiously.

"You're the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Jorah reminded her, as if she didn't know. "I am an exiled knight, a deposed master of a low house. Even when I was a lord, I was lowly. My hall is made of logs. My island and domain are insignificant. I pledge fealty to the Starks of Winterfell. In no world is a Mormont worthy of a royal marriage, especially not to a Targaryan." He shook his head sadly.

Daenerys took his hand and sat him down on a soft divan. "Jorah," she said, "I'm sure you know more of this than I do, but there is a tale that my mother Rhaella, in her youth, was in love with a man named Ser Barristan Hasty."

"Yes," Jorah nodded. "I knew Ser Barristan. He was a minor lord from the Stormlands. He was madly in love with your mother, and she with him. But he was deemed too low a man to marry a Targaryan."

"And look what happened to my mother," Daenerys said sadly. "She was in a loveless marriage with my father and managed three children before dying."

"One of those children was you," Jorah recapped, brushing his fingers against her cheek. "If Rhaella and Aerys had not been together, there would be no you, and that would be the world's greatest shame."

Dany gave Jorah a weak smile. "She could have been _happy_, though," she said. "I want to be Queen. I want my throne. But I want to be _happy_ whilst I'm ruling. I'll only be happy with you, Jorah. I won't be happy alone. And it won't do for a queen to have a secret lover, or a bastard child."

At that, Jorah's heart skipped a beat. Was she hinting at having his child, legitimately? They'd not discussed children since discussing marriage. Jorah had been afraid to broach the topic with Daenerys. It had been a source of friction for them before, and Jorah wanted so badly not to spoil her positive sentiment toward the notion of becoming his wife.

She looked so beautiful tonight, clad in a silk gown with her hair hanging loose. They sat alone in a candle-lit chamber of the palace Daenerys had commandeered for her time in Astapor. No one was around. Jorah set his silver chalice down on the little table beside the divan and leaned over to Daenerys. He gently urged her back onto a pillowy cushion and began planting delicate kisses on her bare shoulders and neck.

"Mmm – no, Jorah!" Daenerys pushed back on him, her hands flat on his leather jerkin, and shook her head fiercely.

"It's been a week," Jorah complained, sounding rather whiny.

"Yes, and you can wait one more night so I at least feel as though we are consummating a marriage instead of simply screwing again," Daenerys said harshly, hoisting herself off the divan and striding across the room.

"Don't be angry, Dany. You just look so beautiful…" Jorah stood and pined after her.

"Jorah, how many cups of wine have you had?" Her back was to him and her arms were crossed.

Jorah looked down at his half-empty chalice. It was probably his fourth cup. He looked back up and realized there were halos around the candles and that he was a bit unsteady on his feet.

"Don't you think there will be enough drinking tomorrow?" Daenerys scolded, looking over her shoulder at him.

Jorah decided to leave the chalice alone and not finish it. He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed.

"I suppose I'm nervous," he said. "What about, I could not say, exactly."

Dany turned to him and gave him a kind half-smile. "I think all men are nervous before their weddings," she said. "Or weren't you with your lady wife and Lynesse?"

"Let's not mention them tonight. Or tomorrow. Or any other day." Jorah frowned deeply. "I think I will bid you a good night, my fair queen, and I will get the sleep I need to rid myself of the drink in which I so unwisely partook. I hope you will not think ill of me the night before our wedding."

"Of course not." Daenerys strode back over to him and ran her hands down his sleeved arms. "Good night, my bear." She kissed him softly and stepped back. "When next you see me, I will be your bride."

That made Jorah shiver. He bit his lip and turned from her before she could see the tears forming in his eyes.

Of course, Jorah got very little sleep indeed. He was still troubled by the thought of whether or not he was doing the right thing – not for himself, but for Daenerys. When he thought of his lowborn status, compared to Daenerys… his shame boiled inside him.

But then, they were both exiles.

The morning of the wedding came, and Jorah dressed himself the very best he could. He was clean and groomed again, and ready for a day of feasting and drinking. Jorah had had his armor cleaned and hammered smooth, and he wore it now with pride. It gleamed in the morning sun, and he thought that, finally, he was Dany's knight in shining armor.

Daenerys looked more Dothraki now than she had the day of her wedding to Khal Drogo, when she'd worn sandsilk. Today, she had an intricately painted vest and a leather skirt with leggings. Her hair was intertwined into a complicated system of braids, with many tiny brass bells dangling from various points so that whenever she moved her head, a soft tinkling, chiming sound was heard. Jorah thought she had never looked more beautiful in all the many moons he'd known her.

He told her so, right before they took their vows. They did those vows in Dothraki, so that all the people would understand and hear. Then, after the cheering died down, they sat in two chairs at one end of the plaza to accept gifts.

The traditional gifts of a whip, bow, and arakh were presented to Daenerys, and, according to convention, she ceremoniously refused them and they were presented to Jorah instead. However, in a break with tradition and owing to Dany's position as Khaleesi and leader of the khalasar, Jorah laid the three weapons at Dany's feet with a bow, and she nodded imperiously. The whip, bow, and arakh sat beneath Dany's chair for the remainder of the wedding.

The bride gifts Daenerys received were mostly items pillaged from slavers' homes in Astapor. Gold figurines, glass perfume bottles, mirrors with mosaic borders, silver jewelry, gems, ivory combs, glass vases, large casks of wine… large treasures and small ones were laid forth before the Khaleesi. It clearly pleased Daenerys to receive this fortune, not only because it would become her personal property, but because it was proof and fruit of her efforts to sack and free Astapor.

At last, it was Jorah's turn to give his gift to Daenerys. He gestured for one of the blood riders to bring forth his present. Dany smiled kindly at him when she saw what it was.

It was a stack of old books.

Unlike the first books he'd given here, though, these books were written in High Valyrian. One book was full of myths and legends of the Free Cities. Another was a history of the Dothraki people as compiled by a Valyrian historian. The third, and newest, tome was a history of the Westerosi Targaryan dynasty from the perspective of the people of the East.

Pools of tears formed in Dany's eyes as she made note of each book, turning them over in her hands, opening them and smelling the pages. She looked at Jorah and grinned widely.

"Thank you," she said softly. "They're perfect."

Jorah did not say anything in response. He simply nodded.

The feast featured different foods than those that Dothraki weddings typically featured. The food available in Astapor featured more fruits and different meats than traditional Dothraki fare. Nonetheless, the people reveled in the feast, and even Arstan Whitebeard seemed to be having a good time.

Three young girls danced for Jorah and Daenerys, but Jorah knew what usually happened when Dothraki girls danced, and he gave Daenerys a look of warning. Sure enough, within moments a rider had walked up and seized one of the girls, quickly mounting her from behind.

Jorah raised his eyebrows and sighed. He rubbed his cheek and looked to Daenerys. "What will you do, Khaleesi?" he asked.

"Let them fuck if they will," she said, waving her hand nonchalantly and taking a sip of wine. "It's a Dothraki wedding."

Surprised, Jorah forced his eyes back to the scene in front of him. How the man managed to achieve the physical requirements for taking the girl so publicly, Jorah did not know. He was certain that he himself would be too ashamed and self-conscious to have sex, particularly such… _enthusiastic_… sex, in front of a crowd. And yet, was that not what was expected of him, as the husband of a Dothraki leader? Jorah sighed again. Perhaps Northmen were too chaste, he thought with a chuckle.

Another dancer was swiftly mounted, but she was headstrong and forced the man onto his back, putting herself in a position to ride him. The man did not care; this way required less effort. The dancer vigorously bounced up and down on the man who had seized her, and cried out in ecstasy. Jorah suspected that this was not the first time the two had coupled.

He felt distinctly uncomfortable, sitting here beside Daenerys, watching the madness of a Dothraki orgy. For some reason, the first time this had happened, at her wedding to Khal Drogo, Jorah had thought nothing of it. He had calmly explained to Daenerys that this was simply how the Dothraki operated. Yet, here, in this plaza, he was disgusted. He was confused by his own feelings, and even more confused when he glanced over at Daenerys and saw her watching the happenings with a rapt gaze.

Her look of fascination turned to one of horror in an instant, and Jorah snapped his head forward to see what had caused the change.

Kovarro and Lamakh had both gone for the third dancer, the last remaining young woman in the open plaza. Jorah felt his muscles seize, and his hand reached for the hilt of his sword at his side. He slowly rose out of his chair, but Dany reached over and pushed him back down.

"I know," she called out to the two men in Dothraki, "that it is your tradition to fight to the death in a situation like this." The two men had armed themselves with arakhs and were circling one another menacingly, but both looked up when Daenerys spoke.

"But I order you, either share the girl or retreat," Daenerys said commandingly. "There will be no fight over something this petty. We can not spare a man for it."

Lamakh sighed and lowered his arakh, nodding up at Daenerys in submission. But Kovarro, drunk on fermented milk and the desire for blood and woman, raised his arakh into the air and swung it diagonally, toward the front of Lamakh's chest. It lodged between Lamakh's ribs and got stuck, so that Kovarro had difficulty pulling it back out.

Jorah dashed from his chair and seized Kovarro, holding his sword up to the rider's neck and throwing him on the ground before Daenerys. Behind him, he heard Lamakh moan as he died. Jorah glanced over his shoulder to see blood pouring out of Lamakh where the arakh was lodged. His torso was slashed nearly in two. The man would bleed out in moments, Jorah thought, looking angrily back to Kovarro.

"Khaleesi?" he prompted, for Dany's eyes were locked in horror on the scene behind Jorah. The madly screwing couples had ceased; the crowd had fallen silent. Arstan Whitebeard stood and leaned heavily on his staff, looking like he was working hard to hold his tongue. The two Unsullied who had been standing guard at Dany's and Jorah's chairs stood closely around Daenerys, wielding their weapons. Daenerys gave no reply to Jorah. Her lips were as white as her hair.

"Khaleesi?" Jorah said again, more loudly this time.

She slowly looked at him, and he nodded, his eyebrows raised. Daenerys seemed to snap to attention and looked down at the kneeling Kovarro.

"Kovarro," she snarled, beginning to address him in his own language, "I accepted you as my personal guard. My _friend_. You have served me well – you were there when Pyat Pree tried to kidnap me, when I went into the House of the Undying, and many other times. But today you openly defied my direct orders and slaughtered one of my men – a man who had capitulated to my request. You, Kovarro, are a traitor against your Khaleesi. For that, there is no forgiveness. I will not burn your body. You will not ride with your ancestors. You are a mouse among men." She looked to Jorah and sighed heavily. "Ser Jorah, give me his head."

Kovarro did not protest, but rather lowered himself on his knees, clasped his hands behind his back, and stretched out his neck.

Jorah took a deep, shaking breath. He had only executed two men before, both times as Lord of Bear Island. Certainly, he had killed countless times since then, as a knight and a sell sword, but serving as executioner of an unarmed man was something different altogether.

Jorah touched his blade to the back of Kovarro's neck to align it. He looked up at Daenerys and said the same words to her he'd said once before, when her brother had been killed by her husband.

"Turn away, my Queen, I beg you."

"No." She gave the same response now that she had given then.

Jorah nodded solemnly and turned back to his task. He heard Arstan Whitebeard sigh, resigned. Jorah pursed his lips and brought the sword above his head, and then he let it fall. With a sickening _squelch_, Kovarro's head detached itself from his body, and the man was dead.

Blood dripped from Jorah's sword, the sword that gleamed in the sunlight and had been cleaned and sharpened just days earlier. That sharpening had served him well; Kovarro's head had come off cleanly in one swoop.

Jhiqui rushed forward and took Jorah's sword, pulling Jorah away from Kovarro's corpse. Jorah was spattered in blood, and Jhiqui took cloths and began wiping down Jorah as well as his blade. In an instant, they were joined by Daenerys.

"Here, Jhiqui, let me do it," Dany insisted, taking the rags from Jhiqui and cleaning Jorah off herself. As she reached up to wipe the sprinkled blood off of his face, she remarked quietly,

"I think the wedding is over. I want to go inside."

"I believe it would show more determination to your people to persevere," Jorah advised.

Daenerys sighed. "I must respectfully decline your advice, Jorah. If there were a hundred thousand Dothraki, an execution would not sully the entire event. But how are we to celebrate, when two of only dozens have been slain? One directly against my orders, the other directly because of my orders? No, the wedding is over. Take me inside."

So he did, and they gloomily trudged up the palace stairs into the bedchamber in which Daenerys had been sleeping since their arrival in Astapor. Jorah dejectedly began stripping off his bloody surcoat and his armor, until he stood in his sweaty yellow shirt and breeches.

"Thank you," Daenerys whispered, looking out the window into a courtyard.

"For what?" Jorah asked skeptically.

"Executing Kovarro. I know he was your friend, too. But I could not abide… I specifically said, '_Do not fight to the death_.'" Daenerys said angrily. "And what did he do? Well, he didn't _fight_ to the death! He simply murdered Lamakh. And that poor man, bleeding out with the arakh stuck in his chest…" She shuddered, her arms wrapped around herself, the bells in her hair tinkling.

"He disobeyed you. No one knows better than I do that that is the worst thing a man can do."

"Well, I didn't kill you for it," Daenerys reminded him.

"I didn't murder a man. I called you by your name," Jorah argued defensively.

Daenerys sighed and smiled dryly. "Look at us," she said, glancing over to Jorah. "Arguing on our wedding day."

"I should think our wedding day was a bit spoiled by circumstances caused neither by you nor by me."

"Well, I ordered the blade, and you swung it." Daenerys frowned.

Jorah was silent for a moment, and he bit his lip. He crossed his hands in front of him and cleared his throat. "Is there anything I can do to make the day better for you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said simply, walking up to him and seizing fistfuls of his shirt in her little hands. She leaned up and took his mouth against hers, kissing him fiercely.

Jorah let out a surprised noise, but a pleased one, and began peeling off Dany's vest.

As Daenerys walked backward to the bed, more of her clothing came off as she shimmied out of her skirt and leggings and shucked her sandals. When she landed with an "oof" on her back on the bed, she was nude except for the bells in her hair.

Jorah stood before her and took off his shirt, tossing it aside, and she sat up to untie his breeches. She tugged them down over the erection that was already forming in anticipation of things to come, and Jorah kicked them away.

Jorah lowered himself to hover above Dany, urging her to lie back down on the mattress. He leaned down to kiss her again, parting her lips with his tongue and caressing her mouth gently. He rubbed her breasts with his calloused hands, fiddling with the hard nubs of her nipples.

It all felt new. It all felt strange. It all felt… awkward.

Why did Jorah suddenly feel as though his relationship with Daenerys was completely different? After all, they'd merely said some vows to make things more permanent and official. Wasn't that exactly what Jorah had wanted? Hadn't he wanted to formally claim Daenerys as his own?

Shoving the doubtful thoughts from his mind, Jorah knifed his hand between Dany's thighs, and she parted them. She was sopping wet, apparently incredibly aroused. She was very ready for him.

Jorah positioned himself to enter her, but was rather distressed to discover that his hardness had faded a bit in the last few moments, since he'd begun having hesitant reflections. Jorah began timidly thrusting into Daenerys, and she started moaning and whimpering quietly, urging him on. She pawed at his chest and smiled up at him.

She said softly, "My husband, I love you."

Jorah half-smiled back at her and leaned down to kiss her on the lips, but even as he did, his hardness continued to fade until he was completely limp inside of her and couldn't thrust anymore.

Daenerys instantly noticed. She sat bolt upright, causing Jorah to slip out of her. He very self-consciously covered himself with his hands.

"What's the matter?" she asked worriedly. "Why aren't you…?"

Jorah shook his head and looked away. "I don't know," he admitted. "It's never, _never_ happened before."

Dany scrunched her brow irritably. "Glad to know I'm the first one to cause that," she said.

"It happens to all men at some point. One would hope not on a man's wedding day," Jorah said, feeling his cheeks flush red with humiliation.

"There has to be a reason," Daenerys argued, but Jorah shook his head.

"Dany, I find you incredibly attractive and I always have. Many's the time I've grown hard looking at you from afar, or while riding beside you, or while lying in bed at night imagining you. Not to count the times I'm actually _with_ you. So, please, don't judge anything by this one occurrence. Honestly, I think it's just nerves."

"Nerves," Daenerys repeated, nodding. "I suppose I was nervous on my last wedding night. Though, it was my first wedding, not my third." She sighed deeply. "I think I'll go read one of the books you gave me. It really was a very thoughtful gift." She rose and began dressing herself. All the while, Jorah sat naked and mute on the bed, not daring to look at her. At last, Daenerys walked over to him and kissed his forehead. "I do love you very much, my bear."

"As I love you."

And though he did love her, very much indeed, Jorah knew in his heart that something was different, and perhaps misguided, in his being married to Daenerys.


End file.
